


What Would I Do

by MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays



Series: Suffocated and Isolated: the Recovery [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Death, Depression, Hospital, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Self-Harm, Tony Stark Has A Heart, bitch I’m sad, my life is crumbling around me but I’m good at writing so here I am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:04:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15749466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays/pseuds/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays
Summary: When Aunt May dies, Peter doesn't know who to turn to. So he turns to no one at all.There’s some triggering shit in here y’all. Read the tags.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall, I'm basing Peter's emotional experience off of mine when I lost a parent at his age (which was like 6 months ago oof) so if anything seems ooc just let me know but I figured this could be something I could accurately portray also please leave a comment bc I'm always a slut for validation

When Peter found out his aunt had died, he didn't feel pain.

He didn't feel much of anything. The doctor's explanations about some aneurysm barely registered with him and everything sounded like he was underwater while he agreed to cremation and assured them he had parents to go home to. 

A lie.

He just trudged back home in the cold, every step seeming to strap another ten pound weight to his body until he could barely lift his hand to put his key in the apartment door. The apartment door his aunt would never walk into again.

The door shut and he slumped against it, the emptiness in him so much heavier than any burden could be, the silence of their--his--apartment suddenly crushing him until he had no choice but to retreat into calm unconsciousness.

\-----

He woke up to a crick in his neck and the blaring of his alarm. Oh, right. It was a Wednesday.

Peter took a solid five minutes gathering himself off of the ground. His eyes drifted towards the kitchen where he would normally see Aunt May burning eggs and wishing him a good day and decided he couldn't eat. He'd probably puke. Instead, Peter just grabbed his backpack full of unfinished homework and walked out the door as he was.

\-----

People on the subway probably thought Peter was insane, but then again, a dirty teenager with glazed eyes wasn't a rare sight in New York City. He saw a woman wearing a familiar tan tank top and had to dig his nails into his hands so hard that he bled so he didn't scream or cry or lunge at her or whatever he wanted to do at the moment.

The skin healed around his nails and he felt nothing as he pried them out.

\----

"Woah, dude, what bad guy kicked your ass?" Ned whispered loudly to an apathetic Peter, who just shrugged. The skin on his palms had healed by the time he got off the subway. They were approaching the glass doors of the school, a few people giving Peter strange looks as he went by. He didn't really notice.

"Well, I bet you'll get him back!" Ned continued, not reading Peter's mood at all. Then again, he had hidden Spiderman for almost a year, it was no surprise he could convince his already-gullible friend. They parted ways on the second floor and Peter didn't even stop by his locker on the way to homeroom.

The day went by in a blur of assignments he didn't turn in and acquaintances he didn't say hi to. He just trudged through the halls on autopilot, muttering apologies as he bumped into people. Peter sat by himself at lunch that day, the smell from the cafeteria making him nauseous enough to instead sit alone on the front lawn. He fed Ned some lie about making more Web fluid in the lab and knew he should have been relieved when his friend did not question it, but couldn't bring himself to be. Ah, well.

\----

Peter came home to silence instead of the smell of cinnamon and some stupid sitcom blaring on the TV. He just sighed and felt the hole in him widen. He wondered idly if it would soon swallow him up as he grabbed a granola bar left on the coffee table and curled up on the couch, his backpack forgotten on the floor despite his immense workload. He fell asleep not ten minutes later to some random episode of Buzzfeed Unsolved and dreamed of nothing but static.

\----

The next two days were more of the same, but MJ was starting to shoot him some suspicious glances, so on Thursday he forced himself to take the longest shower of his life and do two homework questions for the class they shared. Why did everything take so long these days? Surely May's death hadn't altered time itself?

God, it was so fucking lonely.

He didn't know why he told no one, but he just couldn't bring himself to. It seemed like every word he choked out took the same amount of energy as lifting a building, but the weight on him only increased. A talk about his dead aunt would start a few incredibly long conversations that he definitely couldn't manage. He just wanted to go to bed.

The problem came on Friday. Lab day with Tony.

He had completely forgotten until he saw a sleek black limousine outside of his school. Normally, he would slip into it to avoid any suspicion, but this time he just sighed and flopped down into the backseat. Happy shot him a concerned glance in the rear view mirror when he didn't engage in his usual nonstop chatter but said nothing. Good.

By the time the two made it to Stark Towers Peter was regretting coming at all. It wasn't like Tony cared enough to ask about his personal life, of course, but how was he going to engage in the idle chatting he normally did while they worked on his suit? Whatever. He'd find an excuse.

The elevator was long and boring, what with Peter's silence and Happy trying to see if something was wrong without seeming like he cared. Which he probably didn't.

Happy gave a half-hearted goodbye when Peter stepped out into the lab but got nothing more than a nod in return. God, Peter just wanted to go back to the apartment. School had been exhausting enough, and now he had to do this?

Thankfully, Tony had turned his music off for Peter. Most days the assault of sound on his jacked-up senses just annoyed him, but today he likely would have just turned around and walked back to Queens.

He found Tony at the back of his lab, tinkering away at some phone, probably adding explosives to the SD holder or something. Peter placed himself on a stool at the other end of that table with a muttered "hi."

Tony didn't even look up. Of course.

"Hey kid, how was school?"

Peter shrugged. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Tony paid him no mind, and Peter unzipped his dirty backpack to reveal the Spiderman suit that hadn't been touched since Tuesday. He knew he was supposed to be repairing one of the mechanical eyes, but found he could do nothing more than stare at it. That suit sparked no feeling in him, so sense of purpose or joy like it had every time before. It just looked like a spandex suit some idiot kid made a fool of himself in. Not for the first time that day Peter got the urge to pack up and leave, but he didn't. He just sat there and stated at his suit.

At least two hours had passed and Peter had done nothing. Tony suddenly shook his hands out and leaned back, peering over to see Peter's progress, and his eyes widened upon seeing no change at all.

"Uh, Peter, you do know you're supposed to do something to it, right?" He joked. Peter's eyes filled with tears for some reason. He didn't even know why, but he was suddenly choked. He couldn't even fix his god damned suit, couldn't impress the only adult left in his life, couldn't keep his aunt or uncle or mom or dad alive--

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched away. Tony was looking at him with concerned eyes, but luckily he seemed more focused on Peter's bones than his red eyes.

"Peter, kid, when was the last time you ate?"

Peter sniffed and shrugged yet again. 'Three days ago?"

Tonys eyes widened with thinly veiled shock. "Three days?!" He repeated. "Your metabolism is almost ten times that of a normal person, three days for them is like a month for you! I mean, I know that's the case for all teenagers, but really." Peter recognized the attempt at a joke but didn't say anything. He was suddenly self conscious of how his hoodie hung off of his frame and his eyes sunk into their sockets.

"I'm alright," he mumbled, unwilling to look into Tony's eyes. He wanted to dissappear now more than ever.

Tony was clearly conflicted, but Peter provided no further explanation. He got up and left Peter alone for a few minutes, a few minutes where Peter thought he could just climb out the window and not come back. He felt like someone was reaching into his body and squeezing his second stomach as hard as they could. He just wanted to go somewhere dark and quiet, that was all he had wanted for the past three days.

Well, except for May. God, he wanted May. At least when she had been around somebody loved him.

Who was he kidding, he had burdened her. She never wanted kids. Ben never wanted kids. Peter didn't appreciate her enough, he hardly ever told her he loved her, he never supported her or anything. The last time they had hugged she was comforting him after he had "lost the stark internship."

Wait. May never knew he was Spiderman. May never knew. Jesus Christ, somebody needed to plug the fucking hole in his core that was only expanding as time went on. Was this what it felt like to fall into a black hole? Because it sucked. It seemed like he was an echo in his own life now, alone and empty, with so much to do and no will to do it.

He was suddenly jerked out of his mind by an apple being shoved into his hands. He looked up to see Tony smiling at him weakly. "At least eat this," he said, sitting back down while Peter whispered his thanks and started to take a bite. "I'm sure Aunt Hottie has something cooked up back home for you, anyways."

Shit. Peter felt sick.

He stumbled over to the nearest trashcan and brought up bile and one bite of an apple, barely hearing but certainly ignoring Tony's questions from behind him. He just stalked over to his backpack, stuffed his suit in, and moved quickly to the elevator before his tears could fall.

"Guess I'm just sick," he said, a poor excuse considering he hadn't been sick in over a year. He clicked the close doors button and finally let his sudden onslaught of emotions be seen by the silence of the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare, yall, because a girl is Incredibly Sad today and will be using that. Just like last time, feel free to leave suggestions, praise, or constructive criticism! ♡

Since his day with Tony, the cold cavity inside of him had been filled up, but with nothing good. It had been filled with fear and loneliness and rage and every other emotion that brought ever-present tears to his eyes. He never let them fall, though, he just clenched his teeth and stared at the ground until they were less obvious. He couldn't think of anything but his repeating mantra of  _alone alone alone_ no matter who he was with. Because that's all he was--some fifteen year old kid with no one but himself who would never amount to anything bigger than 'the spider guy that might have stopped a mugging or two.'

 

He barely remembered the rest of Friday, he just knew he walked all the way to his apartment and grabbed the arm of the couch so hard he tore the fabric. Then it was Saturday, and someone was rapping at his door.

 

Peter rubbed his eyes to try and clear them (a futile action because of the tears) and stumbled over to the door. He unlocked it to see the landlord, Mr. Rodriguez, standing there with a wooden box.

 

"Hello, Peter!" He greeted cheerily. "How have you been?"

 

 _I'm so depressed I can barely function._ "Great," he replied flatly.

 

"Glad to hear it!" Wow. Rodriguez could not read a room. "Anyways, this arrived for you this morning." Mr. Rodriguez thrusted the heavy box into Peter's surprised arms. When his face softened, Peter knew something was coming. And he was right.

 

"Now, I know I said I would give you two one more week for rent, but I'm afraid I can't push it back any more. Is your aunt home?"

 

Ouch. Peter fiddled and tried to hide the sudden redness creeping up his neck.

 

"No--no, sorry, it's just me." The truth, but for much longer than what Mr Rodriguez thought.

 

The man sighed sadly and kept smiling. "Alright, then. Tell her I'll come back Wednesday, but that's as long as I can keep her here, alright?" Peter nodded slowly, afraid his voice coukd betray him. "Good." 

 

He started to turn and leave, but added on, "And take care of yourself, boy. You look like you haven't eaten in months."

 

Peter ignored the dents he left in the door handle as he shut it behind him. At least he had a package to open, right? He used to love mail.

 

He used a box cutter to open it and gasped at what was inside. An urn.

 

Later, it would occur to him that the dents and cracks he made in the floor would destroy his chances of getting his security deposit back.

 

\-----

 

It was Sunday night. Peter managed to keep a sandwich down and considered it progress.

 

He'd gotten no homework done, ignored all texts from Ned, MJ, and confused classmates who needed tutoring, and hadn't even looked at his suit. Normally, he would have spent at least twelve hours patrolling each weekend, but Queens didn't even need his help. Hell, it wasn't like he had saved anyone's life. Just their egos and wallets.

 

He was asleep more often than not.

 

He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Tony never followed up with him. On one hand, he was glad that he didn't have to explain himself or acknowledge the shameful situation, but it only confirmed his fears that there were no caregivers left in his life. No people who considered it at least some part of their job to make sure Peter stayed alive.

 

Who was he kidding, Tony never thought about him. He was just some orphan that Tony pitied. Hell, Peter wouldn't be surprised if he was cast out completely once he ran out of ideas for suit updates.

 

He wanted to distract himself with books or movies but found that none of them could hold his attention for more than a few minutes. He just stared at the ceiling, feeling the seconds limp by and wishing his healing was slow enough to let him join May. Even with his powers, he was starting to develop moon-shaped scars on his palms where his nails drew blood every time a thought that wasn't idle and neutral entered his mind.

 

He made the mistake of opening his window at some point and had to hold back a scream that tried to rip itself out of his throat when he caught a whiff of familiar Thai food from down the street. He fought the instinct to jump out of it and opted instead to lock it shut. He didn't know if he wanted to swing freely or just his the asphalt below but decided it better not to risk it. It wasn't like there was anyone left who would miss him, but he thought it best to stay, just in case. In case of what, he didn't know.

 

His last thought as he let sleep claim him that night was that his science project was due the next day and he hadnt even written down a hypothesis.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then it was Monday
> 
> Get ready for some heavy angst!!

Peter’s dream was happy. That’s why he woke up with tears streaming down his face and nausea threatening to bring up the sandwich he ate yesterday.

 

He had dreamt of May.

 

They were sitting on the couch and watching some dumb romantic comedy she liked. He had no idea what was happening, but his stomach was full of takeout and May’s hand was in his hair and he couldn’t be happier. Everything seemed warm and jewel tones danced across the screen as some middle aged woman confessed her love to a man she’d only just met.

 

Then his blaring alarm forced him back into the cold, hard real world. He groaned and hit his phone so hard he heard it shatter.

 

“Shit.” Peter picked up his phone and saw the screen was a web of cracks so bad he could hardly even read the time. Oh, well. It wasn’t like he had the money to get it fixed, anyways. He shrugged a jacket on over the outfit he’d been wearing since Friday and left without so much as a pen in hand.

 

——-

 

Ned forced Peter to eat a banana that he had brought. If even Ned could see how screwed up he was, Peter clearly wasn’t trying hard enough. But it was hard to try anything at all. It just felt like added weight on his shoulders whenever he did anything more than shrug, so he tried his best to avoid speaking and become invisible.

 

His chemistry teacher was getting worried. She had been slyly looking at him during notes, and he supposed it was because her star pupil had moved to the back of the room and didn’t even pretend to pay attention. She tried to stop him after class but he seemed to dissapear almost immediately. He didn’t want her asking why he hadn’t turned in homework in almost a week.

 

Peter walked the halls slowly, seeing only blurred shaped as the constant tears that he refused to let fall obscured his vision. He gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead, hoping he could make it out to the front lawn before anyone could make him get lunch.

 

Of course, Peter never got his way.

 

“Hey, Penis!” Fuck. Peter didn’t bother increasing his pace, he knew Flash would catch up to him anyways. Which he did. Peter just ducked his head and kept walking.

 

“Hey, I saw you didn’t turn in Mathur’s project. Finally realized you aren’t some boy wonder?” Normally Peter would quip back, or at least say hello quietly, but today he knew if he opened his mouth all of his sorrow would come screaming out of him.

 

“Are you listening to me?” Flash was getting aggravated. Peter kept quiet and rounded the corner that led to the staircase. That wasn’t enough for Flash, apparently, because he grabbed Peter by the shoulders and violently whirled him around.

 

“Penis, I said—“ He cut himself off. Peter had finally met Flash’s eyes, and for the first time he could see Peter’s gaunt cheeks, his swimming eyes and prominent bags that persisted no matter how much sleep he got. Peter trembled with every breath and willed himself not to shrink back or let the tears fall, but God, they were close.

 

“What the Hell happened to you, Parker?” Not his first name, but a step up from Penis. Maybe Flash really was human.

 

Peter stared defiantly for another second before spitting back, “Nothing you’d care about.” His voice was brittle, hard but clearly about to break. He just wanted to sleep. Well, he really wanted to hold May’s hand and eat her burnt pancakes and have her tell him everything would be alright, but it was a little late for that. So, he settled for sleep.

 

The second a bit of concern flitted across Flash’s face, his goons rounded the corner to egg him on, and just like that any humanity was gone. He just cackled and shoved Peter back. Peter didn’t even have to pretend to be weak anymore, he could hardly keep himself standing as it was. He fell to the floor and the jolt knocked a bead of water out of his eye, then another, and before he could try to stop it there were two quick but silent streams carving paths through his grimy face. He ducked his head and tried to let his curls cover his face, but Flash wouldn’t let it happen. In fact, he only seemed more inclined to hurt him. Flash bent down, grabbed Peter’s hair none too gently, and slammed his head against the wall hard enough to make the hallway swirl. “It’s about fucking time you learned your place, Penis. You’re finally acting like what you are: some dumbass coward with no friends, no parents, and—“

 

And then suddenly Flash was crumpled on the other side of the hall, his buddies were frozen, and Peter was on his feet but figured he wouldn’t be for much longer. He wrenched the door to the stairwell open and was pretty sure he actually ripped it off of its hinges as he stormed out of the building altogether. Sobs wrenched themselves from his chest as he realized that everything Flash had said was right. He was dumb, he was cowardly, he couldn’t save  _anyone,_ not even himself.

 

Peter all but ran down the streets, such a stark contrast from the days before that he would have been surprised had his eyes not been clouded by tears and his head not clouded by emotions. His mind was just a vortex of awful thoughts, most like  _alone or I miss her_ , but one screamed louder than all the others.

 

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

Peter slammed the apartment door closed, ignoring the shouts of his neighbors to keep it down. His chest hadn't stopped heaving and somehow he hadn't yet run out of tears. They only got worse when he realized he could no longer smell May's perfume on the pillow he was muffled his wet shouts in. Was this what a panic attack felt like? He couldn't be sure, he'd never had one, but he'd read plenty of books about them and this felt awfully similar. Well, either way, he wasn't having any fun.

 

Peter's phone kept ringing, mostly calls from Ned, but the stupid marimba ringtone that he had never bothered to change hurt his ears so much that eventually he just reached over and turned the sound completely off. He knew he was breathing but he certainly didn't feel like it. Everything was bad everything was bad everything was  _bad_.

 

He didn't know how long he had been doing that when eventually he realized his grip on the fabric of the couch was loosened and the tears on his face had dried. He felt much like he had on his first day without May, but much more fragile, as if he was a shell made of porcelain rather than lead.

 

Peter rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, trying to think of anything other than what he had done. He knew he couldn't go back to school. Hell, it was probably evening. So instead, he thought about the next most pressing matter--the rent.

 

May had always said that she would teach him how rent and taxes work, but she never really got the chance. He only had about fifteen dollars, and it wasn't like he had inherited much from May. He didn't know how her will would work anyways. He wasn't even sure she had written one. Did that mean he got everything? No, it couldn't be, he was still a minor.

 

At least there were no guardians the school could call on him.

 

No. No, don't think about that.

 

Something else. Anything else

 

The rent.

 

There was no way he could pay it. Jesus, what was he going to do? Anxiety began to bubble up in him, making his skin tingle and his heart beat a little bit faster. He hadn't told anyone so it wasn't like he could stay over somewhere. Could he convince Mr. Rodriguez to give him another week? Surely if he got a job with Mr. Delmas and skipped school to work he could scrape enough together. But what if he never got a job? Besides, he didn't want to hurt Mr. Rodriguez's income any more than he already had.

 

It seemed like he might just have to live an an alley for a while.

 

He didn't want to think about that any more. He didn't want to think about anything any more, so he let sleep claim him.

 

\-----

 

Peter didn't go to school the next day, either. He had resorted to turning off his phone entirely after the blinking screen woke him up during the night. He just curled up in different parts of the apartment until he got too uncomfortable and moved to another part. He had actually holed up in every room but May's. He knew the bed was unmade, knew that the crack in the mirror still had a picture of May's mother taped over it, knew there were coats strewn over her chair, so why would he change that? What was the point of seeing it again?

 

Peter hadn't died yet because he forced himself to eat something. He couldn't be bothered to make anything, so he just slowly nibbled on an old pack of ham throughout the day.

 

He was missing his Spanish test.

 

He supposed it didn't matter any more, all his grades were down the toilet at that point, anyways. The school had called the apartment phone a few times asking for May--no doubt to tell her about Peter's absence--and he held his breath every time. It seemed like everything beyond the apartment walls no longer existed and every time he was reminded it shattered his frame of mind again. And again. And again. Every time he got a phone call or heard a car alarm or smelled someone bringing takeout home he forgot every fine motor skill beyond breathing, and even that he fucked up.

 

Maybe he would just drop out and be a full time Avenger. No, Tony would never allow that, he had even set up a test to show Peter how he wasn't ready. Maybe this was the end of his good life and he would die at the ripe old age of twenty nine while living on the streets or something. Death seemed to be a much more prominent theme in his thoughts these days. Hm.

 

It was only when his lights didn't turn on when he flipped the switch that he really started to worry. Oh, right. It was the start of a new month and Peter hadn't payed a single bill. He would Google how, but the lack of electricity meant his computer was off, too. Besides, it wasn't like he had the money anyways.

 

Jesus, this was real, huh? He had to be an adult now. He didn't have anyone to help him. He was alone. Alone. The mantra picked up in his head again at full force and stayed that way until he was once again interrupted, this time by a knock on his door. Maybe Mr. Rodriguez was going to kick him out early.

 

He sighed and forced his legs to move him, but gasped and jumped back when he looked through the peephole.

 

There, just outside Peter's door, dressed in a smart suit and sunglasses, was Tony Stark.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off all yall have been so nice I'm gonna cry second this is gonna be wild lmao I don't even know what I'm about to do
> 
> I'm crying while I'm writing this

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_.

 

Tony Stark was at Peter's apartment (not May's, never May's again).  _Peter's apartment._ What had he done to warrant a personal visit? Other than lose his last gaurdian, break down in Tony's lab, starve himself for days on end, throw Flash a hundred yards--

 

Okay, a lot. But maybe it was none of those things. Maybe he had just left a part of his suit behind or something. Yeah, that was probably it. He definitely wasn't about to be metaphorically disowned by the only adult he had left.

 

Peter only realized he had been standing there silently for at least a minute when his apartment phone rang. He ran over and turned it off, overwhelmed by  the sharp noise, but swore softly when Tony called, "Peter, I know you're in there! I heard you turn the phone off!"

 

Peter swore again.

 

He felt dread pool in his stomach as he unlocked the door slowly. He supposed he didn't have much of a choice. The door swung open to reveal a very put-together Tony. Peter wished he could say the same for himself.

 

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, which felt like some of the longest in his life. Why was everything taking so much longer nowadays? Oh, right.

 

Tony suddenly took off his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing audibly. Peter just stood frozen, trying to calm the battle between cold apathy and crushing despair.

 

"Are you going to let me in?"

 

Peter blinked. He had to let Tony in his apartment. Because that was how conversations worked.  _Get a hold of yourself, Parker._

 

"Right--yeah, uh, come in." It sounded more like a question. Peter stepped to the side and closed the door softly, suddenly self-conscious about the state of the apartment. He hadn't bothered to clean anything, and while not much had been moved since last Tuesday, the apartment was certainly gathering dust.

 

In fact, the first thing Tony did was run a finger over the coffee table, sneering when it came away grey. "Jesus, kid, have you been doing  _anything_?"

 

He hadn't, but he was still a little nervous. Scratch that, very nervous. "What?"

 

Tony turned to face Peter, something like disappointment in his eyes. "Come on, don't play dumb. You haven't logged any hours in the suit, haven't been going to decathlon practice--"

 

"How did you know that?"

 

"--Not important, and from what I know, you skipped school today. What's going on?" God almighty, was that concern in Tony's voice? Peter wasn't sure he had heard much more than cool detachment from him since Civil War. Peter gave him the first excuse he could think of:

 

"Um...I'm just sick..." Even Peter could tell it sounded lame.

 

"Bullshit. You haven't been sick in fifteen months. What's really going on?"

 

"Nothing," Peter replied flatly

 

"Nothing? So do you want to tell me why Happy told me about some kid with a concussion and a broken wrist at Midtown? Because I only know one terrible liar who could manage that."

 

Fuck. How could Happy have known about that?

 

Peter didn't answer, he just stared at his feet and tucked his hands in his pockets. Tony, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere quite yet, decided to bring up another topic of discussion.

 

"Hey, where's your aunt? I thought she worked the night shift." Peter wasn't sure how Tony knew that--it probably slipped out during one of his senseless ramblings, but Peter didn't think Tony even really payed them any mind--but he was less concerned with that and more with the knot he could still feel on the back of his head suddenly sending shard pains down his spine and his feet becoming two blurry blobs as sudden, now frequent tears once again clouded his vision. Why couldn't he hold himself together?

 

"Pete?" The voice was soft, as if Tony was talking to a frightened deer rather than a grieving mess of a teenage boy. "Peter, where is she?"

 

Peter couldn't help it. His eyes flitted to the kitchen table behind Tony, where the urn still sat; he hadn't had the energy or will to move it. It was only a second, but it was enough. Tony looked over his shoulder and his face crumpled when he laid eyes on the twisted version of a vase, one that captured the dead rather than nurtured the living.

 

"Kid..." The one word asked a million questions, ones that Peter just nodded to as he felt a bead of moisture begin to slide down his face despite his best efforts.

 

And then he was being taken in a bone crushing embrace and for the first time in ages he actually felt warm and he was letting his tears fall and his chest heave and he was sure Tony was saying something but he couldn't make out what and God everything  _hurt._

 

Seconds bled into minutes until Peter could hear everything around him again and his vision was clear enough that he could make out the beat up couch at the top of his vision. Wait, top? He pulled away slowly, reluctantly, and saw that at some point he had made it onto the floor. He sat back on his heels, trying to ignore what he was sure was a pitying gaze from Tony. He quickly wiped away the tears that had all but covered his face. He felt drained, scooped clean, and he couldn't tell if he preferred it to being full to bursting.

 

The pair was silent for a long time, until Tony finally asked, "How long?" He didn't need to specify what, it was clear.

 

"Tuesday," Peter whispered.

 

Tony's face fell farther, if that was even possible.

 

"You've been living alone for a week? How did you even pay rent?"

 

Peter just shrugged. He didn't have the energy to explain that he was on the verge of homelessness because he couldn't get a job and stopping petty crimes didn't pay the bills.

 

Tony paused. He slipped on his 'I-have-my-life-together' businessman voice and said, "Alright, just--just go get a bag together, alright? I need to make some calls."

 

Peter nodded again and slinked off towards his bedroom while Tony wondered what the Hell else he had missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, get ready for Peter at Avenger's Tower


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all, this is more a transition chapter so sorry it’s so short but this seems to be growing to something bigger than I originally thought it would be so gang gang yknow

Peter opened his bedroom door and took in the rumpled covers and dirty floor. May always said he should have cleaned it more often. It was too late now.

He grabbed a random bag off of the floor and stuffed whatever clean clothes he could find in it, along with his phone and charger, fifteen dollars in cash, his Spiderman suit, and his favorite picture of him and May.

He paused as he picked it off of his desk. The frame held a grainy photo of fourteen year old Peter, whose face was smeared with chocolate, squished between his beaming aunt and uncle. He remembered the day so clearly he would have been shocked. Instead, he just felt an echo reverberate through his hollow frame.

He had just been accepted on a scholarship to Midtown Tech, and they’d gone out for ice cream. Peter almost smiled as he remembered May waving over a waitress to take a picture, himself protesting despite his only growing smile. God, before the bite he was such a stereotypical teenager. Not anymore.

His almost-smile turned back into a hard frown and he carefully placed it face-down in the ratty old bag.

He didn’t bother to turn around and take in the room or anything. Why should he? He just composed himself as best he could and went out to meet Tony again.

——-

Tony was pissed. Not at Peter, never at Peter, but at himself. He had never followed through with Peter after his mini-meltdown, hadn’t even bothered to send Happy after him. Then, he barbed into the kid’s apartment and started blaming him. He even missed the urn!

So, yeah. Tony was pissed.

The second he heard Peter’s door shut, he sagged into himself and dropped the act. What was he going to do? Would Peter have to go into foster care? He certainly wasn’t old enough to become emancipated, and while Tony had no doubt he could make it on his own, he wouldn’t want him to anyways.

He considered calling Sam and asking if he knew anything about child psychology but thought better of it. Oh, God. Oh, Jesus, he had a grieving super kid on his hands. What was he going to do? The only father he’d ever known was criminally negligent at best. Hell, Pepper barely even knew how to be a mother, and she was their best shot.

Alright. Okay. He could do this. One step at a time. Step one: get the kid somewhere safe. He was working on that, so Tony decided to skip to step two: get some help.

He opened his phone (now equipped with a bomb in the SD holder) and hit the first number on speed dial. They picked up on the second ring.

“Rhodey? Hey, I need some help...”

——-

Peter walked out to see a very flustered Tony with his hand running through his hair and a phone held to his ear, and for the second time that day, he was surprised to see genuine distress. It didn’t last long, however, because Tony soon noticed him and told the phone, “Hey, I’ve gotta go.” He shiver the phone back in his pocket and his raw emotions were gone as quickly as they had come, leaving Peter wondering if he had ever seen them at all.

Tony plastered on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and said, “Guess what, kid? We’re going to the compound.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Sisters, I’ve got stuff to do for a While and also don’t have a plan so updates might take a little longer now but what r u gonna do  
> I also crave validation so leave a comment if you enjoyed!!
> 
> Oh also: should I make this civil war compliant? Should the Avengers be broken up or all happily under one roof?? Should I make them splintered but form a situation where they have to come together?????? Hell if I know!!!!! Help me decide pls!!


	7. Chapter 7

Peter had never really been around the Avenger’s Tower before. Sure, he’d been in the lobby and up to Tony’s lab, but never anywhere private or common. If he ran into an Avenger, how was he supposed to explain why he was there? None of them knew he was Spiderman.

 

The problem was, he knew logically that he should have marveled at the high ceiling and grand technology beyond even his own comprehension, but he just...didn’t. There were no warm tones, no scent of burnt pancakes or cinnamon perfume, nothing but crisp white room after crisp white room.

 

Hell, Tony had his hand on Peter’s back and was half-guiding and half-dragging him because Peter kept just stopping without really realizing it. He didn’t take in any of the tech around him, but he wasn’t really thinking of anything instead. He just kind of existed.

 

After what seemed like an extraordinarily long time, Peter realized he was no longer moving (being moved?) and looked up to see a generic guest room in front of him. There was a queen bed with fluffy pillows and a white bedspread, a painting of a boat on an ocean hanging above it and a small flat screen mounted on the wall. It was better than anything Peter had had at the apartment, but he wasn’t excited at all. He just walked in and looked around blankly.

 

“So,” Tony said, following Peter in with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll stay here until we figure out something permanent. Is that okay?” Peter dropped his bag where he was standing and sat on the bed, nodding slowly. They were both silent for a little while until Tony said, “Okay. I’m going to go talk to some people, alright?”

 

Peter just nodded again. Tony bounced on he balls of his feet for just a second more, then left without another word and shut the door behind him, thankfully.

 

What could Peter do, now?

 

For the first time in a week, he texted Ned.

 

——

 

Tony shut his eyes and let out a shuddering breath the moment the door shut behind him. Peter was so unresponsive that Tony was getting scared. Normally, he would have been yammering in about some cat he saved and gazing around in wonder at all the brilliant secrets of the Avengers, but he had said barely ten words to Tony in the past week.

 

He gathered himself as best he could and trudged back to the living room, completely intent on pouring himself a drink and ignoring his responsibilities for a few hours, but was both irritated and relieved to see that Rhodey had arrived and was leaning in front of the bar, effectively blocking everything it held. Tony let out a sigh and walked over to him, raising one eyebrow. Rhodey stared back.

 

“Am I not going to get a hello after you dragged me here without telling me why?”

 

Tony smiled sweetly. “Hello, Rhodey.” He frowned again and cocked his head. “Move.”

 

“Not until you tell me what’s happening.”

 

“In a minute. Move first.”

 

“No.”

 

Dammit. Why did Tony have to make friends with people as stubborn as him? He turned away and plopped down onto the long couch, saying nothing as Rhodey carefully sat next to him. For a while Tony just blinked and stared out the vast windows in front of him, wishing he were free in the city instead of trapped in his house with all of his problems.

 

“Do you want to tell me now?”

 

Tony sighed, “No. But I’ll do it.” And then he didn’t. For a while. Rhodey was going to ask him again when he finally opened his mouth and said, “Peter’s aunt died.”

 

What?

 

“That...sucks, but who is Peter?”

 

Tony figured if Rhodey was going to keep him alive for the next three years of figuring out what the Hell to do with Peter, he might as well just tell the truth. “Spiderman.”

 

Oh, shit.

 

“And this person, Peter, who we all tried to kill a few months ago...how old is he?”

 

“Fifteen,” Tony responded tiredly. Rhodey groaned.

 

“Dammit, Tony! You let a fifteen year old get hit like that?”

 

He just sighed. “Yeah.”

 

Rhodey, figuring that he would just have to reschedule that conversation, moved onto the next topic. “So, why is it your problem? Shouldn’t his parents be helping him out?” Tony just stared him dead in the eyes.

 

Oh, _shit_

 

Rhodey let his hand fall back against the couch, rubbing a hand down his face. Meanwhile, Tony stood up and made a beeline to the bar that Rhodey no longer blocked. Great.

 

He stood up, prosthetics whirring, and made it to Tony just as he was opening a bottle of scotch and pulled it away. Tony just stared at him. “Tony, you can’t take care of this kid if you’re drunk. Put it back.”

 

Before Tony could respond, FRIDAY’s calming voice butted in, “Sir, there is a young boy who says he needs to see Peter. Should I let him in?”

 

”What’s his name?”

 

”Ned.”

 

Tony almost smiled, glad that Peter had a friend who cared enough to brave Avenger’s Tower.

 

”Right, Ted. Let him up.”

 

”Sir, his name is—“

 

”Thanks, Fri.”

 

She huffed in the most annoyed manner that a robot could and turned herself off. Tony turned back to Rhodey, all apathy gone from his face and replaced with something akin to panic as he felt his heart rate getting almost dangerously high. “What am I going to do?”

 

——

 

“Peter?”

 

Peter looked up from the spot he had been staring at for almost an hour, realizing the sun had set only when the sliver of light entered at the same time as the familiar voice.

 

”Ned?” He asked back, cringing at how small his voice sounded. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten whiplash yet from switching between complete emptiness and overwhelming loneliness so quickly.

 

He blinked against the sudden light when Ned’s silhouette was shown as he opened the door fully. Peter let out an indignant grunt and shielded his eyes.

 

”Oh—Sorry.” Ned quickly shut the door and sat on the bed next to Peter. “So...”

 

”So?” Peter echoed back.

 

”What happened? Are you okay?”

 

Oh, right. Peter never told Ned why he should come over, just that it was an emergency. He took one long, shaking breath and forced himself to say the words for the first time ever.

 

”May is dead.”

 

Peter felt Ned tense up next to him. He knew that May had been almost another mother to him. He felt a silent tear slip out of his eye when he finished the sentence. It was real now. He had an urn. He said the words. It was real. She was gone and he was totally alone.

 

He had been glad that they were in the dark so Ned couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t matter for long, because soon Peter couldn’t bite back his sobs any more.

 

”Oh, God.” Peter didn’t know if it was him or Ned saying that, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. 

 

The question was, after this, what did?

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve retyped this goddamn chapter four fucking times bc it kept deleting I’m gonna kms but um school is wild and I might be in a play so updates might take longer but I promise promise promise I’m not abandoning this

Tony had always considered sleep a luxury. Ever since he sacrificed precious hours of it before daycare to build his first circuit board he knew sleep wasn’t all it was chocked up to be.

 

Which was why he was on the seventh google results page for how to deal with grieving teenagers. He soon found that they weren’t much help, because he wasn’t just dealing with a grieving teenager, he was dealing with a fifteen year old superhuman who had just lost the last of his family and was hellbent on saving the world.

 

So, he was still up.

 

Unfortunately, Rhodey was up too. Tony liked him, obviously, but it was hard to consider him a friend when he was gaurding the whiskey like a dragon guards it hoard. Tony knew he shouldn’t drink, but the kid was asleep and it felt like every bone in his body was vibrating and he would have liked that feeling to end.

 

He was just about to click onto the next link which was always more off-topic than the last (what to do when your child loses its goldfish) when a loud beep told him FRIDAY was about to come over the intercom. Sure enough, a moment later her calm voice said, “Boss, Peter Parker has received seven phone calls from the same unknown number in the past nine minutes. He has answered none of them. Should I transfer the call to you?”

 

Tony thought it was a bit odd for her to tell him that when it was clearly Peter’s business but thought it must have been urgent to some degree and replied, “Uh, sure.” He hoped it wasn’t some villain who wanted ransom or something dumb like that.

 

Without warning, a loud and strangely high voice blared over every speaker, making both Tony and Rhodey cringe back. ”Hello? Helloooooooo?”

 

Nope. Definitely not a villain.

 

”Mr. Parker, are you there—“

 

”Yes, sure, just tone it down!” Tony already had a stabbing headache, he didn’t need to make it worse.

 

The mystery caller hesitated. “You do not sound like Mr. Parker,” He said, thankfully quieter.

 

”That’s because I’m not.”

 

”So why did you answer his call?”

 

Tony thought for a second. “I’m currently...in charge of him.” Which was true, but he didn’t really know what he was to Peter. Well, that terribly sensitive topic would have to wait for another day. He heard Rhodey snort behind him and glared daggers over his shoulder.

 

”Mhm.” He could tell the caller didn’t quite believe him. “Anyways, I have a message for him and his aunt.”

 

That shot a spike of sorrow through him but he pushed it down. “Shoot.”

 

”Well, my name is Rory Rodriguez and I am the Parkers’ landlord. Please tell them that if they do not pay the rent by midnight tonight I will be forced to evict them.”

 

Tony glanced longingly over at the bar that Rhodey was so vigilantly blocking. He sighed and ran a shaky hand down his face. ”Alright, just—just give me a few hours.”

 

”A few hours for what—“

 

”FRIDAY, end call.”

 

The lab was plunged into silence once again. Tony steadied himself with a breath of, “okay,” and stumbled back towards his computer. He had things to do. He couldn’t think about how he was about to tear Peter away from his last link to a normal life or how Peter had no official guardian or how he didn’t even know Peter’s healthcare provider so if he ever got hurt at school they would send the bill to Peter because Tony had not yet figured out who he was going to put in charge of the kid because it definitely couldn’t be him he wasn’t fit to be a parent or anything even resembling one because Howard had fucked him up beyond repair and Tony had done plenty to himself to destroy any last dregs of hope that he could care for or about a child.

 

He definitely couldn’t think about any of that. He had things to do.

 

——

 

Peter woke up with an ache deep in his bones and a foul taste plagueing his mouth. He sat up and instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea passed through him. He wondered how long it had been since Peter had last drank water.

 

He realized that he had slept in the clothes he had been wearing for the last two days and hadn’t even bothered to crawl between the sheets. He’d just laid down when Ned left and let unconsciousness claim him.

 

Oh, Yeah. Ned. He had taken out a DVD of the first Star Wars episode and pressed play without a word, not leaving until his mom threatened to ground him.

 

Peter didn’t have to worry about gettin grounded anymore, huh?

 

He felt his soul wither just a little bit further as he remembered that it was Wednesday. He had to figure out how to pay rent. So he had to leave. So he had to find Mr. Stark. He could do that.

 

He shoved his now-dead phone into his pocket and grabbed his small bag, stumbling through the door and trying not to pass out when he stood up to quickly.

 

Then, he remembered that the compound was essentially a bright white maze full of unheard of technology. Sure, it was cool that he got to see Dr. Banner’s PHD’s mounted on the walls (did he still live there? Peter wasn’t sure) and a cat statue made of vibranium, but he felt he would have enjoyed it much more if he hadn’t had such a pressing problem on his hands. And if his aunt wasn’t dead.

 

About twenty minutes passed and Peter was starting to just give up. He could always talk it out with Mr. Rodriguez later. Or he could be homeless. It could go either way.

 

Suddenly, a familiar robotic voice piped up, “Peter, are you lost?” He jumped in surprise but soon realized it was just FRIDAY.

 

”Um, Yeah. Where is Mr. Stark?”

 

”Boss is currently in the kitchen.”

 

Peter said nothing.

 

”Two floors down, the glass door at the end of the hallway.

 

”Thank you,” he replied, then stepped into a very confusing (and much too confining) elevator.

 

Peter had had a bit of a phobia of small spaces since the Vulture incident. He didn’t like elevators or closets, but unfortunately, they couldn’t always be avoided. Peter tried to focus on anything other than the slowly mounting panic inside of him, counting the buttons on the door and wondering how the hell two floors took this long.

 

Thankfully, the doors slid open to reveal a slightly roomier but still painfully white hallway. Why did Mr. Stark have the interior decorating sense of a hospital?

 

Hitching his bag further up, he tried to hold himself a bit straighter, hoping that Mr. Stark might have forgotten about his meltdown the day before. Unfortunately, his red eyes and stained face gave him away.

 

He found Mr. Stark sitting at a surprisingly quaint dining table, probably reserved for the use of him and his friends alone, pouring over some papers and talking quietly into his cell phone. Even with his enhanced hearing, he could only catch a few phrases, things like “he already has an urn, we just need a little ceremony,” and “how would I know her favorite flower?”

 

Oh. He was arranging a funeral. For May. Ouch.

 

”Sunflowers and roses.”

 

Tony jumped and whirled around to see Peter standing in the doorframe, looking so incredibly small it was painful. ”What?”

 

Peter shifted his weight. “She liked sunflowers and roses together. She thought they made a room warmer.”

 

Tony paused, and it was obvious to even Peter that he didn’t quite know what to say.

 

”...I’ll mark it down.”

 

Peter heard a snort from the corner and turned to see the actual War Machine standing not ten yards away from him. He supposed he hadn’t noticed him at first. And once again, where he should have been star struck and rambling nonstop, he just gave Rhodey a weak smile and turned back to Tony.

 

”So, um, I’ve really got to get back home, but thank you for letting me stay.” It sounded awkward even to his own ears. “Sorry.”

 

He might as well have asked Tony if he was circumcised by the hush that fell over the room. Neither of them seemed to want to answer him.

 

After a pregnant pause, Tony cleared his throat, put up his I’m-an-important-billionare facade, and said, “Well, kid, you can’t.”

 

Peter faltered. “Why?”

 

“Your landlord called.”

 

Peter paled. “S-so?”

 

”So, your rent is due in fourteen hours and you don’t have any money.” Well, yeah, that was one way to put it.

 

When Peter didn’t reply, opting instead to stare at the scars on his palms so he wouldn’t have to look anyone in the eyes, he said, “Come on, we’ve gotta get your stuff over here.”

 

Peter’s head shot back up. “What? Why?”

 

”We already went through this—“

 

”No, I mean, can’t I just get a job or something?”

 

Tony stood up and put his hands on his hips in a way that Peter may have laughed at ten days ago. ”Pete, come on. I’m not arguing with you on this. Happy is waiting in the car.” Then, without another word, he strode past Peter and down the hallway, disappearing around a corner.

 

Rhodey shot Peter a pitying glance that filled him with a terrifying but brief burst of frustration before quickly following his friend, leaving the kid alone. Alone was getting to be almost as common a theme in his head as death. Because he was alone. He thought it for what must have been the millionth time, but it was true. He held out hope for a little while that Tony would know what to do, but now it seemed he only had himself and his scars to keep him company.

 

——

 

Just as the elevator doors where whirring closed, a dark hand shot between them to open them back up. Rhodey quickly stepped in beside Tony and held down the doors-open button. “Could you let go of that?”

 

”Nope.”

 

Tony crossed his arms.

 

”Tony, you can’t just do that to the kid.”

 

”Do what?”

 

Rhodey stared him dead in the eyes. “You’re a literal genius, don’t play dumb.” Tony just huffed and stared forwards defiantly. Rhodey continued. “From what you told me, that kid just lost the last person he called family. I get that there’s no other way to keep him with a roof over his head, but if you’re planning on taking him in, you’ve got to learn how to be gentler.”

 

”Peter clearly didn’t think so.”

 

”Then why isn’t he here?” Tony poked his head out of the doors and realized that he had left the kid standing in the doorway. He cursed under his breath and made his way back.

 

Peter was staring down at his palms with a strange fixation. Tony tried to see what he must have been holding, but Peter’s senses alerted him before he could and the boy shot up like a rod. Neither Tony nor Rhodey missed the way he balled his hands up into fists.

 

Tony didn’t give the kid time to ask anything, because despite all his showmanship, he wouldn’t have the answers. “We’ve got to go, Peter.” He tried to soften his tone a little, but was still fuming from the funeral arrangements and his conversation with Rhodey.

 

He expected Peter to put up some sort of a fight, but To his surprise, he just nodded and straightened up as best he could in a futile effort to look unbothered. Rhodey didn’t follow them.

 

The elevator was tense and silent. Tony didn’t know what to say and Peter didn’t want to say anything. He was afraid that he might have a repeat episode and didn’t want to look more pathetic than he already did. The car ride was more of the same, but where Happy was usually silent he was making an effort to get Peter to talk. And Peter wanted to, he really did, but what he wanted more was to lay down and leave the task for another day. So, he offered short answers in an attempt at normalcy to show that he could handle himself. It wasn’t that he wanted to stay at the compound, but if he did than he would be showing that he couldn’t take care of himself.

 

When they pulled up to the familiar brick building, Peter stared at it for just a moment too long before opening the car door and going in. People were staring.

 

In the lobby, the bored doorman jumped to attention and started rambling some bullshit about how he couldn’t believe the Tony Stark was right in front of him. He was ignored.

 

Peter stalled at the door. He didn’t want to go in and be swamped with May. He didn’t want to have to leave her again. But when Tony pushed him forwards gently, he pushed the door open.

 

And nothing changed.

 

He expected there to be some grand feeling of loss within him or a casket laying in the spot where he found May (one he would never tell anyone about) but he just felt cold. Because it was cold, as if May had provided the very warmth that draped the room in golds and reds, and now that she was gone everything was tinged a hollow blue.

 

Tony stood awkwardly in front of the television as Peter slowly strolled around the apartment, running his hands over objects with memories so much larger than the volume they held. The chocolate chip cookie recipe that Ben had typed up himself and made every Christmas. Peter’s first science fair award, for a project where he designed a home made DNA tester. A picture of May and Ben on their wedding day. Peter lingered over that one. May had had such love in her eyes, so much life it must have been impossible. She had lost some of that brilliance when Ben died, but just when she was bringing herself back the hands of Fate had to snatch her away for good.

 

He put the picture into a small bag, followed by one of Ben’s old shirts, both of their wedding rings, a stupid birthday card Ned made him, and a handful of other random keepsakes. With every object he felt an aching nostalgia, but came the closest he had to smiling in days.

 

Finally, he turned to Tony, who was staring out the window absently. Looking at the clock, he realized it had been nearly fourty minutes. “I’m done,” he said quietly. Tony jumped.

 

”Alright.” Silence. “Okay, well, I’ll call somebody to have...everything else donated. Well, except for your clothes and stuff.”

 

The word donated hit him like a punch in the gut. Somebody else would sit on that couch he had watched movies with May on. Somebody else would have foodfights across that table where he had hit Ben square in the eye with spaghetti. Somebody else would erase the memories stored in every object in the place Peter had called home for seven years.

 

He clenched his jaw as his throat burned, just nodding his consent and wishing he could have just fucking  _kept her alive_.

 

Tony didn’t notice Peter’s rapidly worsening demeanor, or if he did, he had no idea what to do about it. At the very least, he did wait for Peter to start moving before he stepped out of the apartment.

 

Before he closed the door forever, he whispered a final “Goodbye,” to all the ghosts that lay there.

 

Then, with a click, it was all wiped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody comment I need Love


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking AAAAAAAA pls leave a comment even if it’s mean I love validation

* * *

Peter had a lot of pride, more pride than it seemed, and his eagerness to please went hand in hand with it. He couldn’t let anybody down, couldn't show weakness if he could help it, and always tried to provide comedic relief.

 

Which was why he was curling his hands into fists and biting his tongue to keep himself from visibly reacting to losing the last part of his old life. Everything took too long but went too quickly. It was a strange paradox that made him want to curl up and wither until he was nothing more than a pile of dust among ashes.

 

He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, but now? How could he explain the feeling of someone ripping a hole out of his chest and filling it with concrete without sounding insane? How could he be a superhero and a coward at the same time? How could he just sit there and sob in front of a man who had kept himself together through the loss and torture and accusation beyond anything Peter had ever experienced?

 

So he focused all of his attention on the blood dripping down his palms and tried not to think about how that was probably a bad thing. He only pressed harder when, despite Peter’s weak protests, Tony carefully guided them into the elevator. He tried to distract himself by focusing on the rhythm of warm trickles quietly staining the carpet beneath him.

 

Drip.

 

Pause.

 

Drip.

 

Pause.

 

Drip.

 

Drip.

 

Drip.

 

”Hey, kid, you doing alright? You’re, uh...looking kinda pale.”

 

Peter blinked and looked up to see that the door had opened and Tony was waiting for him to get out. His arm was in the doorway so it would stay open, and Peter quickly shuffled out, relieved. He just shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodies and nodded. Tony eyed him strangely but said nothing, thankfully.

 

Peter just needed a prompt. He didnt know it yet, but he needed someone to bring him out. He was far too proud, far too afraid of dissapointing people who needed him, but just one little crack and the dam would break.

 

Peter was glad that his hoodie was black, because any other color would have soaked through by the time they reached the compound.

 

——

 

Tony was damn concerned. Of course he hadn’t expected him to be the same right away, and he wouldn’t force him to talk, but it was like Peter had become a whole new person, one devoid of joy and sorrow alike. Tony was concerned because he had become the same thing when he lost his parents.

 

_I didn’t want you to be like me. I wanted you to be better._

 

Tony remembered saying those words so long ago, and now they were once again at the forefront of his mind.

 

Rhodey was waiting for him when they arrived. Leaning against the bar, of course, but waiting all the same. Peter left quietly, shuffling off to his room with his shoulders hunched and his bag hiked high. Tony had no idea what was in it and he wouldn’t ask.

 

The moment the kid’s small frame rounded the corner Tony let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Rhodey almost smiled and commented, “You know, you don’t have to lie to him.”

 

Tony, knowing damn well what he meant, asked, “What?”

 

”You don’t have to act like you haven’t felt an emotion since 1998.”

 

Tony only stuck out his tongue to one of the only people he could. One of the only people he didn’t hold at an arm’s length.

 

”Rhodey, he needs someone to lean on.”

 

”Yeah?” He clearly didn’t believe him.

 

”Yeah.”

 

”Tony, have you ever thought that maybe he needs sympathy? Someone to relate to?”

 

Well, shit. No he hadn’t. Tony was sure that if he were a character in a movie, Rhodey would play his straight man.

 

”And if he doesn’t, he won’t have anyone for support.”

 

Rhodey didn’t even blink. He knew that Tony was the dumbest genius and most stubborn softie on the planet. And maybe beyond it. He would have continued the conversation but he heard the familiar chime of the elevator and knew who it was. Instead, he quickly added, “Just promise that you’ll try to open up to him, alright?”

 

Tony didn’t have time to answer. A bell dinged and a livid Pepper Potts stormed through the elevator doors.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all should I post the sad ass poem I wrote when my dad died?? I think it’s p good but idk


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Sisters pray for me I have no idea where this is going lol
> 
> Also pls comment I crave validation thx

Peter couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go through that bag. He was sitting on his floor and staring at it, knowing logically that he should put his memories where they belong, but the loss of his home had once again torn the wound of grief open, possibly further than before.

 

He had to. He couldn’t, he didn’t want to, but he had to.

 

So, Peter counted to three and forced himself to stand—he only teetered for a moment—and haul his bag over to his desk. Without even looking, he placed the pictures, cards, shirts, and everything else onto the desk with as much care and as little thought as he could. However, when he felt his blood-crusted hand brush across cold metal, he closed his fist and came up with his aunt’s and uncle’s wedding rings.

 

He stumbled back onto the bed and felt the grooves in the engravings that Ben had had carved into the rings.

 

_Always and forever_

 

He remembered how May had laughed and immediately referenced  _Naepoleon Dynamite._ Ben had been so worried that he had made a mistake but May assured him it was the best thing he could have written. From then on, whenever things got rough between them, Ben had only had to say those three words and May would laugh until she was hoarse. Hell, May had it etched into Ben’s tombstone.

 

A sad smile managed to surface while Peter twirled the rings around one another. He hoped that now Ben and May really had forever.

 

——

 

“Anthony Goddamn Stark!”

 

Pepper was fuming, Tony was stuttering, and Rhodey was trying (and failing) to stifle his laughs. 

 

Pepper’s heels clacked loudly as she stomped across the floor, and although Tony wasn’t afraid of much, an angry Pepper Potts was enough to send the bravest man screaming through the hills.

 

Within seconds, Pepper’s nose was mere inches from Tony’s and her pointer finger was jabbing at his chest like a sword, and just as deadly.

 

“What the  _hell_ were you thinking?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Why did I hear that you were seen carrying your intern into the compound from the trade delegate that was sitting next to me during a meeting? What impulsive bullshit thing did you do this time?”

 

Rhodey laughed out loud. Tony didn’t even have time to glare before Pepper was back at it again.

 

”I mean, you didn’t even bother to put on some kind of disguise or anything! Your arc reactor was just—“ she gestured wildly around her chest, “—out for every newscaster to see! Who was so damn important that you couldn’t be bothered to try and be inconspicuous? Do you know how many phone calls I’ve gotten? I mean Christ, Tony, I love you but who do think you are?”

 

She stepped back, heaving, seemingly spent. After a long moment of shock and amusement on Rhodey’s part, she asked, “Well?”

 

Tony was tired of having to repeat himself, so he just explained the situation  in as few words as he could and was relieved when Pepper’s face went from anger, to shock, to somber softness, and finally to disappointment. She covered her face with her hands and groaned, “Oh, god, Tony.”

 

That was certainly not the reaction he had expected. The shock, anger, sorrow, all forseen, but this?

 

”What?”

 

Pepper laughed bitterly. “What? Tony, you can’t just go around taking in kids on a whim! (‘Exactly!’ chimed in Rhodey) This is a human child, not some robot! You seriously think you’re qualified to raise this kid?”

 

Tony could practically feel himself deflating as he learned what little faith she truly had in him but had to keep up the fight, at least for Peter’s sake. “Well, what do you think we should do? Get him emancipated? Ship him off to some orphanage like Orphan Annie?”

 

She tenderly pressed an expertly manicured hand to his arm. “I’m asking you to  _think_ before you do this. What are you going to do when he gets arrested, when he goes to college? Are you sure you can actually handle this?” The final sentence was quieter, gentler, as if she was trying to communicate with a third grader who was holding his dead puppy. He felt terribly patronized.

 

He turned away and gazed in the direction of Peter’s room, unsure if he should follow him or not.

 

”What other choice do I have?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all I’m so sorry for how short these chapters are but I’m in a play and go to he hardest school in my state (not saying much we’re just about last in education) and I’m taking three AP and two honors classes and I’m a grade above in two subjects and hhhhhhhhhh shits getting rough but bear with me


	11. Chapter 11

The day of the funeral came and went. It was held in a basic funeral home; the Parkers had never been very religious. As promised, the area was full of blooming sunflowers and roses, arranged expertly but impersonally. He might have cried. He wasn’t sure.

 

On the way back to his room, he passed not only Happy, but also Rhodey, the Falcon, And Captain America.

 

Wait—

 

——

 

The funeral had been scheduled for two days out. Tony had filed for temporary guardianship with the help of Pepper and enough coffee to keep an elephant on its toes. Things were getting sorted out. Slowly, the whirlwind was dissipating.

 

And then Tony found the flip phone.

 

He had shoved it in a drawer to keep himself from using it the day he got it. But now, trying to find his social security number to write on one of the many forms, it had once again been unearthed.

 

He had considered just burying it under a mountain of paperwork again, but stopped. He really didn’t want to call Steve. He  _really_ didn’t want to call Steve. But Steve was his only link to Sam. Sam, who was the closest thing to a psychologist he knew, and probably the only one who could know about Peter’s identity without Tony paying a small fortune. He wouldn’t hesitate to drop a few million, but Peter had a huge guilt complex, that he knew.

 

So, before he could talk himself out of the dumbest idea he’d ever had, he had dialed the number and was holding his breath while the rings went on a little too long.

 

Just when Tony was about to give up on it, he heard a certain voice for the first time in two years. 

 

“Hello?”

 

He said nothing. He couldn’t. He couldn’t just go and ask his old colleague that he hadn’t seen since they tried to kill each other for a such a huge favor.

 

”Hello? Is this a butt dial or—“

 

”Come to Avenger’s Tower. Bring Sam.”

 

He hung up without another word and wished he hadn’t called at all.

 

——

 

So, for the next two days, Tony had bitten his nails down to nubs waiting and wondering if they would come at all. He let Pepper handle most of the stuff regarding legal matters and focused on not destroying Peter in the process of it all. 

 

He kind of directed Peter through the bundles of flowers because the boy would barely move without guidance. At least he had managed to get her headstone on the plot next to Ben’s. 

 

He felt bad, like the whole thing should have been more personal, but he barely knew her.

 

But once he had half dragged Peter back into the tower the day of, he saw two familiar forms sitting on his couch like they owned it. Which, in a way, they kind of did. Eighteen percent and all.

 

The kid didn’t even notice when Tony told him to go ahead to his room, but Tony was too nervous to be worried. He had been worried about Peter enough, anyways.

 

He forced himself to remain suave as always. Steve seemed stiffer than a board, but Sam, ever oblivious, just cocked his head and said, “Wow, Stark. Nice suit.”

 

He didn’t break eye contact with Steve. “Thanks. I went to a funeral.”

 

He noted the way they both squirmed with a mix of satisfaction and guilt.

 

For a long moment everything was silent. Not with Sam around, though. “So...” he started, clearly trying to break the ice. “Who was that kid?”

 

Tony finally wrenched his eyes away from a still-apprehensive Steve. “Peter Parker,” he replied, as if that explained everything. But before Sam could ask him to elaborate, he went on. “And the reason you’re here. How much do you know about child psychology?”

 

What? “Not...a lot, but some. Why?”

 

”That’s a child. He needs a therapist.”

 

 _What_? “So go get him one?”

 

Tony just sighed, annoyed. “For God’s sake, Sam, put two and two together. He’s the spider kid.”

 

**_What?_ **

 

Sam wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but sudden memories of being webbed to an airport floor flooded back. His eyes went wide. “Tony, you brought—“

 

Tont cut him off with a loud groan.

 

” _Yes_ , I brought a teenager to the fight, that’s not the biggest issue here.”

 

Finally, Steve stood and spoke up. “So, why did you need Sam?” Tony shot him a look of pure malice and spat back,

 

” _Because_ , a normal therapist can’t help him deal with everything on top of the superhero shit. Are you going to help?”

 

This time, San stood up, looking at Tony like he’d just asked for a cake full of dead strippers. “So you’re expecting me and Steve to just...what, come back? Stay here until the kid’s sorted out?”

 

”You, yeah. Rogers can croak, for all I care.” He cared a lot, but kept his face still.

 

Neither of them moved. Well, he supposed his seventh grade English lessons really would come in handy. Time to use Ethos. “The funeral was for his last family member.”

 

That got them. Steve visibly tensed and Sam threw his hands up in the air like he’d lost a game of poker. “Great!” He remarked sarcastically. “Another orphaned super-baby!”

 

Tony shrugged it off, but he definitely felt a surge of anger at the flippant remark on his—the kid. The kid. “So?”

 

Steve looked to Sam, then back to Tony. “Let us talk it over.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) oh boy this is gonna ruin yalls lives also fuel my validation you know what to do


	12. Chapter 12

Tony rapped his hands on the end table next to him, trying to ignore the incessant buzzing in his bones. He watched as Sam gesutured indignantly on the other side of the glass door, at what he couldn’t tell. They had been back and forth for almost thirty minutes. His hand yearned for the weight of a glass full of whiskey but was blocked by Rhodey’s hawk-like gaze.

 

Tony shot up the second he heard doors slide open and the two men walk through. He tried not to look too restless as Sam and Steve shared a long glance.

 

Finally, Sam sighed, “I’ll stay.”

 

Tony could cheer. He could jump up and touch the high white ceiling. Instead, he just nodded.

 

”But...”

 

Goddamnit.

 

”You have to let everyone else stay too.”

 

Tony asked, “Who is ‘everyone else?’” Knowing full well who they were.

 

This time, Steve spoke up. “Me, Natasha, Vision, Wanda. Maybe Clint.”

 

He absolutely wasn’t about to allow that. Yes, of course he would give just about anything to have the Avengers back—to have his _family_ back—but his pride, his fiancé, and the law just wouldn’t allow it. And all at once? It was ridiculous! Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut in with, “And before you say anything, think about Peter’s identity.”

 

And Tony stopped in his tracks. Because Sam was right. Who else could he trust with Peter’s superhero status? Who else would understand the specific brand of stress that goes along with avenging, loss, and being the best teenager on Earth.

 

Tony rubbed a hand down his face and barely even whispered, “Fine.”

 

——

 

Peter was fiddling with the rings again. He hoped the engraving wouldn’t eventually go down with how much his fingers rubbed over them. He was sitting cross legged on the comforter, somehow not thinking about anything.

 

After an unidentifiable amount of time passed, a knock sounded on Peter’s door. He shoved the rings in his pocket and muttered, “Come in.”

 

A few months ago, he would kill for the Falcon to voluntarily come to see him, but instead he just sighed and wished people would leave him alone. 

 

Sam asked if he could sit. Peter nodded. So he did.

 

”What’s your favorite color?”

 

Peter...did not expect that. Certainly not from an Avenger. And wasn’t that what kidnappers asked their hostages to get them to break?

 

He shrugged and replied, “Um, blue?” He didn’t actually have one, but blue sounded nice.

 

Sam made a satisfied sound, as though the question had been some important test and Peter had given an adequate answer. 

 

”Favorite book?”

 

”...Harry Potter?”

 

”Favorite movie?”

 

And they went on like that for ages, Sam asking meaningless questions and Peter providing meaningless answers for what seemed like an eternity. Peter’s tense shoulders started to relax, his slouching back straightened up the tiniest bit as he felt at least some degree of normallacy. Just...answering questions.

 

Then, Sam asked, “Do you like dogs?”

 

Without thinking, Peter replied. “Never had one. May is more of a cat person.”

 

He felt his mind grind to a halt. For just the duration of the conversation, he had forgotten about her. For a moment he was relieved, but guilt washed over him stronger than any relief ever could. He had  _forgotten_ about her.

 

”Was,” he corrected quietly. “May was more of a cat person.”

 

Sam prompted, “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter echoed. “Yeah.”

 

They were silent for a long while, both just staring at the painting they faced. Peter wondered if Life had always had so many gaps during conversations. But unlike before, when these periods of introspection had seemed so awkward and unnecessary, when he had always filled the void with empty chatter, the quiet was comfortable. Desired, even. Still, Peter wasn’t too upset when Sam asked, “So...who’s May?”

 

Peter took a shuddering breath. How many times would he have to recount his losses? “My aunt. Sorta my mom.”  _No one anymore_.

 

Sam gestured to the picture strewn haphazardly on the desk. “Is that her?”

 

Peter sniffed and nodded.

 

”She’s beautiful.”

 

Peter, not quite knowing how to respond to that, replied, “Thank you?”

 

Sam chuckled. “I wasn’t complementing you, birdbrain. But I can see the resemblance.”

 

Peter shifted awkwardly. “She, uh—she wasn’t blood.”

 

Sam finally turned to look Peter in the eye and asked, “What’s blood got to do with anything?”

 

And Peter couldn’t come up with an adequate response. Hours later, though, he would hold the picture to his chest and whisper, “Nothing at all.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a rough fucking day I’m tired of my mom

Peter Parker didn’t have any siblings. Ned was the closest thing to a brother he had, but even then they didn’t share every experience. But now, sitting in his room while his enhanced hearing picked up every detail of the shouting match ten floors beneath him, he wished he had a sister or brother sitting next to him that he could talk to, complain to, or even just share a cynical look with.

 

The Rogue Avengers had arrived three days prior, and there had been nothing but chaos since. Sure, whenever he walked into a room to get a drink, the arguing ceased and everyone pretended to be normal, but he could hear the tense whispers from the top of the building. 

 

He wished he hadn’t caused them this much trouble. He fiddled with a wrinkle in the no doubt expensive comforter he lay on and listened to the splintered remains of what used to be the greatest heroes on Earth argue about him.

 

”You’re not cut out to raise a kid, Tony. It doesn’t matter if he sees you as a god, you’re a recovering alcoholic with a shit idea of what it means to be a family.” Ah, yes, Natasha’s cold voice was always the one to make sharp, cutting remarks.

 

”Well, what ideas do you have?” That must have been Rhodey. He seemed calm, at least. Maybe a little defensive about his friend.

 

”Get him a foster family?” Vision. He clearly didn’t have a clue about the hell of adoption and fostering. Peter hoped, prayed the others didn’t agree. But at the same time, he couldn’t blame them; he was just a burden on their already complicated lives. He sighed and looped his little finger through a loose thread.

 

”No, Vision. Absolutely not.” Tony’s hard voice drifted to Peter’s ears and he noted that at least one person agreed with him. Great.

 

”Are you serious, Tony? Even if the foster care system is shit, the last thing a traumatized kid needs is to be taken into the most targeted place on Earth and get kidnapped every other week, especially not while we all try and figure each other out!” Oh, God, the great Captain America wanted Peter turned over to CPS. He might as well pack now.

 

Sam spoke next. “As much as I hate it, I’m going to have to agree. The best thing you can do for him is make him stable, and this isn’t a place where that can happen. He needs normalcy.” Sam was calm, unlike the other voices which were either enraged or just plain exhausted. He was the voice of reason, and Peter hated that he was right.

 

The insults were still flying below him but he found that as large as the room was, he felt suffocated, like the walls were pressing down on him and the lights were getting dimmer by the second. He shakily sat up and demanded that FRIDAY open the window. She complied without a second thought, and he quickly slid out onto the side of the building.

 

——

 

Peter didn’t know where he was going. He swung through the city without his mask, his suit, or the usual freeing joy that accompanied it. He didn’t care if people saw him. It was dark now, anyways. Who would be able to see his face?

 

Eventually, Peter found himself at the cemetery. It was cliche, but it was right. He brushed a hand over the four graves, realizing with a pang in his chest that there was an entire plot of the cemetery for the Parker family, and it was by no means empty.

 

At first, it was just a hello. A quick greeting to each headstone and the memory that accompanied it. But soon, he felt himself whispering his sorrows, telling the empty air even the most menial details as if there was someone there to listen. Maybe there was, and maybe they were disgusted with how pathetic their little boy grew up to be.

 

He described the tower, the thread count of his bed, the pain in his heart, the grade he got on his last chemistry test, the feeling that he was hanging onto the edge of an abyss by a finger and no one was even trying to pull him up because there was no one left to try, and everything in between. Until, eventually, his words ran out. There was nothing left to tell. He just stared at the headstones, read the engravings on his mother and father’s for the millionth time, the one on Ben’s for the thirtieth, and the one on May’s for the second.

 

He felt the crisp, dry air of autumn run through his hair. He saw the shadows of the trees across from him, and he heard the honking of horns and shouting of pedestrians from streets away. He could taste the air on his tongue; it would rain soon. Vaguely, he smelled a skunk.

 

Peter was about to leave—the Moon was high in the sky—when he remembered one of the fondest moments of his life.

 

_“Remember, Peter—over, around, and then through,” May’s warm voice instructed. It was a calm spring day, and the two were sat on a picnic blanket in the middle of Central Park. Fortunately, not many tourists were around._

 

_Peter was ten, and sad that his uncle had had to leave for work, so May had taken him out there. Her hair was still short, her glasses dirty but her eyes shining through them all the same. This was one of the rare moments where she was unburdened, even happy with life._

 

_She held up a daisy and guided Peter’s hands through the motions of weaving it into a chain of other flowers they had gathered together. He watched her long fingers in awe as she created a beautiful crown of green and white and purple, petals and leaves blending into a gorgeous ring that reminded Peter of the fairy circles he had read about in story books. He tried his best to emulate hers, and was so excited when he finally got it right that he jumped up and down, effectively destroying the remaining flowers underfoot._

 

_But May wasn’t upset. She just put Peter’s messy, lopsided crown on her head and placed her beautiful creation on his, and by the time Ben got back he had gathered enough flowers for all of them to make one together, not caring about the leaves and petals strewn around the apartment._

 

Peter remembered that day more clearly than any other (aside from the day he learned what death was and why his parents were never going to come home or the day he had washed Ben’s blood off of his hands and watched as the water turned pink or the day he walked into the apartment with a fresh wildflower he had found growing out of a crack in the sidewalk only to see his aunt lying facedown and pale without an ounce of life in her) and wished he could go back, Pause time and live in that brilliant moment forever. He wished he could feel that sun on his skin again, feel his tiny hand in May’s as they strolled through the streets of New York City with crowns of flora and declared themselves royalty. He wished he could have stayed right there forever, trapped in that golden memory with no inky blackness waiting just beyond the reaches of the light.

 

Finally, when the sky had started to lighten to a dull gray, Peter took one last look at the four beautiful chains of clovers and dandelions he had created and swung away, feeling like he had somehow lost his family all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short but I promise promise promise actual plot is coming soon I just want to make y’all cry for a little while longer


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit y’all 11k hits???? 760 kudos?!!?!!?!?! That’s crazy!!!!!!! Also i fucking typed all of this out then it glitched and all deleted I’m gonna kms

Apparently, a dead gaurdian only got you so many days off of school. So, Peter was shifting nervously from foot to foot at the gates of his school, trying to ignore the whispering and glances from the sea of students passing him.

 

Happy, who Tony had insisted drive Peter to school, rolled down his window and called, “Hey, you alright? I can take you back to the tower if you want.”

 

Peter shifted again. He licked his lips and shook his head; leaving so suddenly would only raise suspicioun and concern. So he ducked his head, worked up some courage, and began the long trek to the main entrance of Midtown Tech.

 

He could feel far too many eyes on him, he could hear the silence that he created and the muttering that followed him. By the time he reached his locker, Peter felt like he had run a marathon.

 

Someone cleared their throat next to him, and Peter shut his locker to see Ned standing sheepishly, holding out a thick and crumpled stack of papers for Peter to take. “I, uh—I got your assignments.” Peter nodded silently and shoved the papers haphazardly into his backpack. Together, the both went to their Spanish class.

 

Surprisingly, the day hadn’t gone too poorly. Ned and him had sat in the back corner of every class, and whenever a curious student came over to ask questions that Peter couldn’t handle, his friend glared as if he were a mother bear protecting its cub until they shrunk into themselves, learned some decency, and left.

 

Lunch wasn’t too bad, either. Ned forced him to eat, but they didn’t talk much and Peter was almost able to tune out the odd whispers and jeers that his classmates only made while his back was turned.

 

But since when does anything go well for Peter?

 

Unfortunately, Peter’s sixth period was chemistry two while Ned’s was calculus, so they had to split up for a few hours. Peter immediately slinked to back corner of class like a guilty alley cat caught stealing food. He watched guiltily as Flash entered the room with a clunky blue cast covering his wrist. Peter was not surprised to see very few people had signed it.

 

Peter expected Flash to rip him into pieces, stomp up to his desk and leave a few bruises in his wake. He did not expect Flash to pass him without so much as meeting his eyes. That bristled him more than any threat or punch could have; something worse must have been coming.

 

While Peter forced himself to take notes on nuclear chemistry, he could feel Flash’s eyes burning a hole in the back of skull, the strongest among the many unexplained gazes he felt on him.

 

But, two minutes before the bell rang, his worries became justified. As he stuffed his textbook into his bag (effectively crushing his missing assignments) his senses flared just before a cast hand slammed down onto his desk hard enough to make his pencil clatter to the floor. Peter looked up to see the malicious face of Flash Thompson staring down at him.

 

To avoid meeting his eyes, Peter leaned down to pick up his pencil. Not long after, though, a black boot stomped down on his hand. Peter shot up with a hiss of pain, cradling his already bruising hand to his chest. Flash, however, was looking away in an obviously fake display of nonchalance.

 

”Oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt?” He cooed patronizingly. “Well,  _this_ didn’t feel to good, either, Penis.” He shoved his cast in Peter’s reddening face, who stared at the grainy wooden desktop and didn’t respond.

 

Flash’s face lit up with an idea. “Ooh, maybe you could kiss it better! I mean, I know how much _magic_ your mouth can do.” Peter’s head shot up, cocked to the side in clear confusion. But before Flash got the chance to explain, the bell to switch classes rung. So, Flash just sling a newspaper from his bag onto Peter’s desk and left, cackling the whole time.

 

Peter looked down. The front page was a picture of Tony fixing his tie before the funeral. The headline read:

 

**Tony Stark: An Internship or Something Darker?**

 

The rest of the article was detailing the possibility of a sexual relationship between Tony and Peter as if it were fact, but Peter didn’t read it; he was already in the bathroom, violently throwing up the sandwich he’d had for lunch.

 

——

 

Tony woke up to a newspaper smacking the back of his head and falling open in front of him. He shot up from his desk, littered with drool-covered guardianship papers. For a moment he was in a panic, but swung around to see Pepper lording over him, her face hard and her arms crossed.

 

”Read it.” Her voice was stony and cold.

 

He slowly turned back to the paper and gasped at the headline. Everything was silent for a minute as he skimmed through the article in horror. When he turned back to Pepper, his mouth silently opening and closing like a fish, she hadn’t moved a muscle. 

 

She commented somberly, “I tried to tell you, Tony. I blocked as many news sources as I could, but because of  _your irresponsibility_ , half the world thinks you’re a pedophile. Congrats.”

 

Tony was silent still, but when he finally managed to meet his eyes, she saw that they were swimming with more remorse than she had ever seen in him. “Do you think he’s seen?” He asked. He didn’t have to clarify who.

 

 

 

She scoffed. “I don’t know anyone who hasn’t.”

 

He buried his head in his hands. “Oh, God,” he groaned. 

 

She shifted. “Yup. So, what are you going to do about it.”

 

He gaped at her and incredulously asked, “Are you being serious? I just found out about this!”

 

”Yes! God, Tony, are you going to make me hold your hand through this? You wanted to be a parent, you’re going to have to handle this.”

 

He stared her down for a second, his jaw set, then cracked and sagged into his chair. He massaged his temples and quietly said, “Okay. Alright. You go organize a press conference for tomorrow, I’ll get Peter.”

 

She nodded, satisfied, and left briskly.

 

He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and got to work.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK

It must have been last period by the time Peter counted to three and forced himself off of the dirty bathroom floor. He had heard two bells ring, so...yeah, the day was almost over. He blinked hard a couple of times and managed to make it to the bathroom sink without swaying. An achievement.

 

He pushed down the dread and raw fear he felt and reached for a paper towel, but as he raised it to his tear-stained cheeks, he stopped dead. Peter had been passively avoiding his reflection— nothing serious, just looking away from shiny black windows or his front facing camera—but he finally caught his own eyes. And he looked  _awful_.

 

His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, there was a line of dried drool and bile trailing from his lips, and his pale, blotchy skin hung off of his too-thin face like a twisted silk. And yet, he found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Because as he stared into the vacancy of his own face, he saw nothing of those he lived. He frantically searched his features for something of his parents, of Ben, hell, of  _May_ , but all he saw was the same ghastly boy.

 

Soon, he heard he door creak open and started, quickly leaning against the sink in an attempt to seem nonchalant (the way he was white-knuckling the counter gave him away.)

 

A tiny freshman boy Peter knew from decathalon headed towards the furthest stall, Keeping his eyes on everything but Peter’s as if his life depended on it. Peter almost laughed. He certainly knew why.

 

Peter took a deep breath, scrubbed his face roughly with the cheap brown paper, and shoved the door open. Hoping he was right about the schedule, he turned in the direction of his AP government class.

 

For once luck was on his side, and he plopped down into the empty desk next to Ned, acutely aware of all the eyes on him. Ned, bless his heart, tried to question Peter, but he just shook his head and slumped down in his seat, scrawling down notes on Mexico’s newest democratic political party without really even hearing the teacher’s words.

 

At the end of the class period, Peter was less afraid and more angry. Angry that Ned probably knew and had said nothing. Angry that tabloids all over the world had lied. Angry that their readers had believed it, angry that Tony had even been so close to him in the first place. Peter stalked out of class the second he final bell rang, his jaw clenched with determination to get out as quickly as he could.

 

He saw Happy’s car waiting out front, knew how that would just cement all the rumors, and walked in the opposite direction.

 

——

 

Tony rapped his pencil rapidly on his desk. He had set up the press conference, calmed Pepper, warned the _literal war criminals_  in his house to stay inside when the reporters came, and now all that was left was...Peter.

 

He could feel anxiety bubbling up inside him and coursing through his veins like some awful wine (God, he wanted wine) as the time that Peter and Happy should be back approached. He was going to face the kid, who would no doubt be a mess, and explain himself. He might have to—God forbid—express his true emotions towards him to expel any doubt from his poor young mind.

 

He only tapped faster when that time passed.

 

Eventually, about five minutes after Pepper had snatched the pencil away and placed it calmly on highest shelf without a word, Happy trudged through the door like he had watched his puppy get hit by a car. Alone.

 

Tont stared at him in silence for a second before he stood and sharply asked, “Peter?”

 

Happy shook his head. Tony groaned and practically collapsed back into his seat, immediately throwing his laptop open and hammering away at the keyboard.

 

”I know he saw me,” Happy explained. “He looked me dead in the eyes and walked the other way. I tried to follow him, but you know that kid, Tony, he’s sneaky.”

 

”Mhm,” was all he got in reply. Happy, annoyed at the lack in response, leaned over to see what Tony was doing. He sighed.

 

”Where did you put the tracker?” He asked, his voice tired.

 

”Phone case,” Tony replied like it was nothing.

 

A second later, though, the rapid typing stopped and Tony leaned back in his chair somberly.

 

”Damnit,” was all Happy heard as he saw a red dot light up on top of Peter’s old apartment building.

 

——

 

 _I really need to clip my nails_ , Peter thought, his feet dangling thirty stories above the bustling streets of Queens. It was true, the longer they got the deeper he could go. That was probably a bad thing.

 

For some reason, he felt lighter, like the bigger sky had cleared his thoughts away and left his worries on the pavement below. He didn’t feel happy, far from it, but at least he wasn’t in anguish any more.

 

Peter remembered landing there so many times after patrol, ready to sneak in his window and get up two hours later like nothing had happened. He remembered times before that, when he was younger and would climb up the fire escape to watch the stars with Ned. He remembered all the times he had felt something on and in that building, felt  _anything_ , and wished for what must have been the millionth time that he could go back.

 

He waved goodbye to his lovely past home and fought back violent tears as he set of for the tower, the sun getting low. By the time he walked through the doors, though, his feet ached like a bitch and he felt just as vengeful as he had leaving school, if not more. He ignored everyone he came across, robot and avenger alike, and set off towards the only room he knew to be soundproof.

 

Peter threw down his backpack, locked the door, took a deep breath, and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Basing Peter’s schedule and teachers off of my own? It’s more likely than you think


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit y’all!!!!!!! Sometimes it be like that!!!!!!!!!!!! Sometimes i think How Do It Be????????? Then I’m like OhYeah!!!!! Like That!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Peter shut the door of that soundproof room as quietly as he could in his state before throwing his backpack to the hard ground, hearing the  _thump_ and the smash of something probably important shattering but couldn’t bring himself to care. He took a deep breath, dropped his jaw, and let a scream rip out of his throat. No words were said, nothing intelligible at least. He just craned his neck forwards and  _screamed_.

 

He screamed for his parents. He screamed for Uncle Ben. He screamed for Aunt May and he screamed for Tony. He screamed for himself.

 

His face was red, his throat hurt, his nails were cutting into his palms without him even telling them to, and shouts of agony and wrath bounced off of the walls and back into him. Only when the ear-splitting screams began to shred his sensitive hearing did he even think about stopping.

 

He stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, unsure what to do from there. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, wild eyes flitting from wall to wall for no real reason. Eventually, reluctantly, Peter gathered himself and his backpack, wiped his nose angrily, and opened the door.

 

And there, standing at the door, with his arms crossed across his torso in an almost comical fashion that reminded Peter so much of the videos he had been forced to watch in detention, was none other than Steve Rogers.

 

Damnit.

 

Neither party spoke for a few long seconds. Peter watched Steve’s upset, almost disappointed expression through his own still-fuming face. He could tell Steve was taking him in, every part of his rumpled and used-up figure.

 

Steve shifted, sighed, then spoke. “You know, this tower has surveillance in just about every room.”

 

Peter could have groaned, because  _of course it did_.

 

”Anything you want to talk about?” He continued.

 

Peter, for fear of how scratchy and high his voice would probably be, just shook his head. Rather than wait for a response, he tried to shove past Steve. A bad idea.

 

Steve’s rough hand grabbed his arm, effectively stopping Peter in his tracks without even straining. Peter felt ashamed. A month ago he would have been able to lift himself out from under a building. A few months ago he  _did_.

 

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Steve repeated firmly, leaving no room for argument.

 

”No,” Peter muttered, trying in vain to wrench himself free and gasping when he felt the calloused hand tighten around his bicep.

 

”You need to say something, Peter. You haven’t said two words to me or anyone else this whole time,” Steve said, his steely gaze never wavering. Peter wanted to shrivel under it but he was damned if he was going to look weak in front of Captain America.

 

”No!” Peter repeated, more loudly this time. His screams were echoing in his head and the callouses digging into his arm were far too rough for his liking. Everything seemed to be becoming blurry, like an action shot taken with a poor camera.

 

Steve continued, “We’re living here whether you like it or not, and I know you’re hurting, but you need to  _say something_.”

 

And just when Peter was about to say ‘fuck it’ and use the combined power of his enhanced strength and the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tony Stark rushed into the hallway from the stairwell with wet hair and an expensive suit.

 

Everyone froze. Tony wore an expression of mixed shock and fury. Steve, whose eyes were suddenly wide as dinner plates, let the grip on his hand loosen. Peter wrenched his arm away from the thumb like he had learned over the years.

 

“Peter—“ Tony started.

 

Immediatly, Peter straightened up and tightened the grip on his backpack. He shook his head wildly. “No,” he spat yet again. “You don’t get to say anything about this.”

 

Then, before anyone could reply, he stormed out of the hallway in a fashion that reminded him too much of that day in school just barely two weeks ago.

 

He stomped through hallways and down stairwells, not really aware of where he wasn’t going and not really caring. He just had to be out, away from the two men who either wanted his to spill what he could never share or keep his sorrows in his head, neither of which he could seem to manage. He was pretty sure his feet were cracking the gorgeous tile beneath him.

 

He didn’t stop until he heard a familiar name. His feet immediatly planted, and he turned towards the source of the sound, a blonde newscaster in a sharp blazer on the obnoxiously-large flatscreen television.

 

” _More news on the whereabouts of the beloved vigilante Spiderman soon. Check in at nine for an exclusive press conference with the one and only To—“_

 

 

The sound suddenly cut off as the screen went black. A silhouette that Peter hadn’t noticed before whirled around in the couch, her blonde ponytail swinging with her. Pepper.

 

“Peter!” She exclaimed in surprise. He supposed it wasn’t unfounded; he had barely made an appearance in the tower. He was like a ghost, the only signs he even existed beyond his bedroom being the missing food and persistent tense arguments about his situation. “I didn’t see you!” She tried to laugh nonchalantly. It didn’t work.

 

He stood stock-still for just a moment before letting his suddenly backpack drop again and crawling onto the pristine white couch beside her. His face was as blank as his heart.

 

”Turn it back on, please,” he whispered. God, he was exhausted after that. Yelling and borderline physical assault really takes it out of a person.

 

”Uh, I—yeah, sure!” Pepper stuttered, clearly not used to hearing him speak. After all, when Tony had introduced them, Peter had just stared at the ground and let him do all the talking. And with everything going on, she certainly didn’t expect him to be any better today. Although, she didn’t expect his voice to be so...destroyed.

 

She fumbled with the remote until the screen lit back up.

 

_”—And hopefully, the truth can come to light. And now, let’s go over to Todd, with the Civilian Think Piece.”_

 

The woman’s overly enthusiastic voice filled the room. Peter knew Pepper was sneaking glances at him from where she sat, ankles crossed and back straight. He wondered idly if she always sat like that or if she was just extremely uncomfortable in his presence. Based on what he knew about her, probably a mix of both.

 

He listened to the generic man and woman describe homelessness rates in Bronx, detail their love for the newest show on Broadway, and a number of other trivial things that he never would have wanted to watch before but now let him be distracted from just how badly he fucked up.

 

It was when they were debating (falsely, of course; that network only hired Republicans) gun control that Peter spoke up.

 

”I was mean to Tony,” he said, his voice so small she had to turn down the TV volume.

 

”What?” She asked incredulously.

 

”I was mean to Tony. I just got really mad and I was mean and now I don’t know what to do about it.”

 

She blinked hard as if it would clear her mind. What was she supposed to say to that.

 

“Uh...he’ll come around?” She cringed at herself. Peter, however, just shook his head, his expression devoid of any emotion other than regret as he stared st the wall in front of him.

 

“No. People don’t forget stuff like that,” he commented as though he knew all too well. Any other teenager she would have brushed off as wanting to seem wise, but this one? She couldn’t.

 

Pepper decided she needed to stumble her way through another sentence. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Peter.” God, she wished Sam were here.

 

He shook his head again and said nothing more. Pepper thought the conversation must have been over, so she turned the volume up again. A choice she would come to regret.

 

The screen had changed to a female reporter with long brown hair standing in front of a loud crowd, one hand holding a microphone and the other covering her ear.

 

” _And here we can see a crowd has gathered to see Tony Stark, alleged pedophile, try and explain himself. Oh, and here he is now!”_

 

And sure enough, the very Tony Stark stepped out onto a platform in front of the tower, the same one he had proposed to Pepper on. Peter felt a rush of contempt at how cool and collected he looked.

 

Pepper tensed. “Peter, I don’t think this is such a—“

 

”Let him talk,” he said, his voice cold but shaking. She noted the way he gripped a pillow so hard his knuckles turned white.

 

Tony took a deep breath and tapped the microphone before beginning to speak. The chatter died instantly.

 

“ _I know there have been some rumors going around about me and an unidentified minor. I am only giving this story the time of day because of the effect it has on him, not because I want to placate any of you assholes._ ”

 

A murmur ripples through the sea of people holding up notepads and tape recorders. All Tony did was hold up a hand and silence fell again.

 

” _Let me assure all of you that the very thought of doing anything like that with him absolutely disgusts me. No, this is a child who is going through more than any of you can imagine, and I have taken it upon myself to make sure he gets out of it alive. The idea that any of you would even_ think _anything else is revolting, and let me assure you I will sue the paper that started this for everything it’s worth. Alright?”_

 

A reporter near the front spoke up. He was wearing a silly cap and looked exactly like a reporter in a Disney movie would. Peter would have laughed if his jaw wasn’t clenched hard enough to crack the teeth of a normal human being.

 

” _Mr. Stark, could you call this child something like a son?”_

 

Tony, who had gone through the ‘illigetimate child’ thing about twice a week ever since he held his fist Stark Expo, talked over him.

 

” _I am simply his gaurdian. I wouldn’t call him my son, just someone I’m housing and guiding until he can take care of himself.”_

 

Peter’s grip tightened further. He felt tears well up in his eyes at hearing his almost father-figure admit that Peter was nothing more than a liability. He had suspected, sure, but it still hurt to hear it out loud.

 

The reporter was not deterred. If anything, he seemed to be spurred on further.

 

” _And how do we know you aren’t taking him in just to get closer to him? To take advantage of him without anyone interfering?”_

 

And for once, Tony Stark seemed at a loss for words. The previously suave showman was babbling much like a dying fish out of water. Everyone in the crowd began to whisper, things like _Does that mean he's guilty?_ and  _I always knew sonething was off._  Pepper’s jaw hung agape in an unladylike fashion.

 

Pepper shook her head as if he could see.  _Please don't say it,_ she wanted to shout,  _please don't do this to him._

 

Tony wiped his hands on his pants, opened and closed his mouth, and finally said, “ _Because, uh...because I’m adopting him as my son."_

 

Fabric tore and expensive down scattered all over Peter’s feet.


	17. Chapter 17

Peter had all but sprinted out of the hallway, leaving a trail of cracked tiles and two shocked men in his wake. 

 

The two just stared at the corner he’d turned in silence until the sounds of pounding footsteps and cracking faded into silence. Steve stared at his hands as if they were two demons attached to his wrists.

 

”Tony—“ he started, but cut himself off. What could he say?

 

And, surprisingly, Tony didn’t launch into a ramble. No, he stared at Steve with weary eyes, and in that moment the ever-present bags and wrinkles had never been clearer. When he realized Steve wasn’t going to speak, he simply said, “I don’t want to fight any more, Steve.”

 

Steve’s head shot up, because  _Tony Stark has never said those words before_.

 

Tony shifted his weight, cleared his throat, and continued as if he world’s weight rested square on his shoulders, “I’ve been fighting with you and everyone else for weeks. Hell, for years. We’ve been fighting ever since Wanda decided the best place to put a bomb was in an unstable building, and I could do it for a while, but not any more. Not when a kid is at stake.”

 

Steve, who had seen this side of Tony only once or twice in the time they’d worked together, tried frantically to explain himself. “Tony, the kid is repressing what’s happened to him. He’s doing what you did, and if he doesn’t stop, he’ll turn out like you.” It wasn’t meant to be a jab, but the moment the words were said, Steve wished he could take them back. But the fury and hurt he expected did not come.

 

Instead, Tony nodded. Slowly and somberly, he agreed in silence.

 

”He is. He is, but he’s not doing it like me. He’s not refusing to see it, but he’s not grieving like you either. He won’t talk and he won’t accept help. But I need you to trust me when I say that I can figure this out.  _We_ can figure this out. Or maybe we can’t, but I need all of you to stop trying to force my hand or force his. It hurts too much and it’s only upsetting him. So please, can we put the bullshit aside until Peter gets himself together again?”

 

Steve could have sworn he was dreaming. He had always thought Tony Stark could never admit defeat, never ask for help or plead for forgiveness, but here he was. There was nothing but silence for a moment as Tony waited on an answer and Steve tried to figure out what answer to give him.

 

“Damn,” he slowly said. “The kid’s really gotten to you, huh?”

 

Tony smiled sadly, because he knew that meant  _I’ll try_. “He sure has.”

 

And for once, the silence was comfortable. They could all figure his out together.

 

But then Tony’s dreaded alarm went off, reminding him of the hell he was to face. and he ran off to finish getting ready.

 

——

 

The first thing Tony thought when he stepped out on hat platform was  _I have no_ idea _what I’m doing_ , and the last thing was  _Pepper’s gonna kill me._

 

He hadn’t actually planned on legally adopting Peter. Considered it, yes, but he had planned on bringing it up at a later date. A much, much later date.

 

And, you know, privately.  _To his face_.

 

But the second the words came out of his mouth he knew he couldn’t take them back. This wasn’t some flippant remark to Rhodey, not some idea that worked its way out of his mouth during some in-bed conversation with Pepper; half of America was watching this and he could only hope Peter wasn’t a part of that percentage.

 

Everyone in the crowd began to yell at once, all talking over one another and just about trampling the security guards that were keeping everyone in line. Tony felt his hand move to hover over his reactor, ready to bring out his suit at a moment’s notice.

 

“So he  _is_ your child?”

 

”Mr. Stark, what do you mean ‘adopting?’”

 

”Could you release this child’s name?”

 

”Age?”

 

”Anything—?”

 

”Alright,  _Alright!“_ Tony shouted. Nobody listened. He repeated himself at least six times before anything settled down. He took a deep breath and, still holding a hand over his chest, said shakily, “I will not be releasing this individual’s identity unless he explicitly asks me to. And if I see any of you harassing interns that you suspect could be him, I will make sure you never get a job in journalism again. Got it?” Tony paused, looking out over the sea of silent, wide-eyed, story-hungry reporters.

 

”No further questions.”

 

Tony let his face drop the second he faced the already-opening doors and walked back into his home, cringing at the uproar from behind him until the closing doors cut it all off.

 

——

 

“Shit—“ Peter exclaimed as the pillow he was gripping bust open under his enhanced strength. He bent down and started to pick up the feathers, shoving them back into the pillow case and frantically trying to explain himself.

 

”Ms. Potts I’m so sorry, I know I can’t pay for it but I’ll see what I can do, I’m so sorry, God, that must have been expensive, but it’s okay, I can save the stuffing and I bet I can get May to sew it back as good as new—“

 

 _Dammit._ _Again?_

 

Peter only froze for a second, though, because before he had time to realize his mistake, Tony was stepping back through the doors and into the Tower, meaning he was about fifty feet below Peter, who had no idea whether he wanted to run as far away from him as possible and refuse contact or stomp right down there and give him a piece of his mind.

 

Pepper, in her infinite wisdom, turned the television off, plunging the two of them into silence. Peter took a rattling breath and continued stuffing the soft down into the pillow. His rambling was notedly more somber, more quiet.

 

”I’ll just—I needed to get a job anyway, this is a good reason—“

 

He stopped when he felt a well manicured hand gently pull his own away from the pillow. It fell back to the floor, all of the hastily-shoved filling spilling back out. Peter only lamented the loss of his work for a moment, because Pepper soon said, “Peter. Look at me.”

 

He shook his head and kept his eyes on the floor, where his destruction lay.

 

”Peter, look. Please,” she added on softly.

 

He sighed and finally met her concerned eyes. He could feel the pity she was practically radiating and felt such a strong spark of fury that he surprised himself. This woman knew nothing about him beyond his name and losses and she felt like she had the right to make him look her in the eyes?

 

Pepper continued. “Look, I know Tony’s a dumbass. I know better than anyone,” she smiled softly at the memories of times she had had to pull him back from throwing himself into reckless and needlessly dangerous situations. She could already see some of that in Peter, too. “He’s a genius, but he’s so unbelievably stupid. And he does dumb things all the time, but things always work out, alright? You don’t have to agree to adoption if you don’t want, I have enough ground in the media to convince everyone this was a hoax. We can all talk about it tonight, but I’ve got to go out there and calm everyone down, okay?”

 

Peter could feel some of his anger and nervousness drain out of him at her words. Pepper was powerful and Tony was smart. They could fix this. He could be okay. He gave another small nod.

 

She gave him a reassuring smile and stood up, releasing his hands. He immediately missed the warmth that he craved so much. “Okay, I’ll be back in a second.”

 

But Peter’s hearing picked up the familiar whirr of the ascending elevator, and just as Pepper was pressing the  _down_ button, the doors slid open to reveal—of course—a rumpled Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like,,,,,, kinds never thought I’d finish this????? I never really had a plan???????? But honestly we’re almost at the end of this and it’s doing way better than I thought and I have a plan and I have more ideas for full on stories in the future????????? Holy shit???????!!???? Thank y’all?????!??!!?!!!? So much!!!!?!?!!?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Stan Lee, a legend and an influence on us all

The doors slid open with a ding, and Pepper found herself frozen stock-still, her mouth agape and her wide eyes flitting between the distraught boys she was caught between. First, she looked at Tony, and if she was honest; it hurt. His face was finally beginning to show age, and she didn’t know if it was the stress of the previous weeks or her simply noticing it for the first time. His eyes were just as lost as the day that he came home from Siberia, and she was sure all he wanted was to chug a bottle of scotch and go to his lab. This wasn’t quite Tony. This was a man that she had only seen in the darkest of nights or the coldest of winters, and seeing him for the first time in such broad daylight was almost too jarring to process.

 

Then, she looked to Peter. He was standing now, his knees bent in a stance that clearly meant he was ready to run. His eyes, too, were wide and frightened, but she could sense a dread in him from the rigidity of his muscles and the way his lips were pressed in a tight line. She couldn’t help but notice that he looked an awful lot like an animal the moment it was hit by a car.

 

This, of course, all happened in less than five seconds.

 

She heard a soft, “Pepper, please move,” from behind her and turned back to Tony. He looked unbelievably, painfully, unbearably exhausted. It was only when he repeated, “Pepper, please,” with an extra dash of determination that she realized she had not, in fact, moved out of the way. Before she could decide what the best course of action to take was, her instincts took over and she hopped out of the way, silently cursing her primitive monkey brain.

 

Tony simply nodded and strode forwards, towards Peter, who looked ready to bolt. In fact, he even picked up a foot, but Tony’s hard voice commanded, “Don’t even think about it,” and they both stopped in their tracks.

 

Pepper knew why. She could practically hear Howard in his voice.

 

But Tony kept on, and with total silence blanketing the room, his footsteps echoed until he made it to the couch. Never once breaking eye contact with Peter, he asked, “Did you see it?”

 

Peter let his arms relax some and nodded slowly.

 

Tony figured that would be the answer but cursed quietly anyways. “Okay,” he sighed and plopped down. “Anyone else you want in here while this happens?”

 

Peter’s expression quickly changed from frightened to puzzled, but it caught him off guard enough to force him out of his defensive stance. Pepper let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding; the kid wouldn’t run.

 

Tony replied, “Don’t play dumb, kid. You know exactly what I mean.”

 

And he did. Peter felt dread pool in his stomach, heavy and cold as river stones, because he knew the weight of the exact conversation they were about to have.

 

He sat himself down finally, albeit a few feet away from Tony, and thought back to what he knew about everyone else in the Tower. He didn’t particularly want any of them here for this. Peter shrugged, said quietly, “Maybe Sam?”

 

Tony nodded sharply. He tilted his head to the ceiling and called, “Friday, call Sam and Rhodey down to the Pepper-Specific Living Room.”

 

Friday’s monotonous voice replied, “On it.”

 

Peter, confused by the name of the room, took a glance around and immediately understood. The walls were painted a clean white, and every available bit of wall space was covered by a chart of some sort or another. There were laptops and tablets strewn throughout the room, no doubt each for a different purpose, and only healthy and organic fruits sat out on the counter. In the corner, next to the semi-sheer curtains that allowed just enough light in the room to keep it from looking harsh, there was an incredibly well organized pile of high-heeled shoes that each cost more that Peter’s old rent.

 

Aw, look, he made himself sad again. Luckily, he didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that he was so out of place here in his punny T-shirts and dirty sneakers and messed up hair that it hurt, because the same ding sounded and both called Avengers walked through the doors, looking as confused as Peter felt. By now, Peter had almost gotten used to the sound of Rhodey’s prosthetics (Tony never would, though).

 

Before either of them could ask why they were needed, Pepper rushed over to them and whispered a quick run-down of the situation in their ears. Peter and Tony watched as their faces changed to express their emotions, shock and anger and flat out disbelief evident. 

 

And then, all too soon, the pair was sitting down in the simple chairs across from them. Peter, who was rapidly regretting his decision to let anyone in at all, shifted uncomfortably, but stopped and settled when he noticed Sam’s calculating eyes watching his every move. He awkwardly tried to brush some of the stuffing away.

 

Tony closed his eyes, took a breath, and started, “Alright. I guess we’re doing this.” He was silent for a moment, and Peter could tell from the furrow of his brow that he was taking the time to collect his thoughts. He’d seen the expression many times before in the lab.

 

After a few long seconds, Tony continued, “Peter, for the past month our lives have been nothing but chaos. Neither of us seem to know how to act around each other, and throwing the Rogues into the mix—no offense, Sam (“some taken,” he commented)—has only made it worse. I didn’t want to make you talk before you were ready, but if this shit ass, cobbled-together family is going to work, I’m going to need some help, here. We can’t keep doing this, this pattern of blowing up then running away. I mean, look around.” Tony gestured to the room, and for the first time Peter saw, really  _saw_ how much he was truly destroying Tony’s way of life. He took in the trail of cracked tiles, the pile of expensive down on the floor, and thought back to all the times he’d gone too far. He felt guilt wash over him, heavy as wool blankets, so strongly he almost felt sick. He shrunk into himself as Tony went on.

 

“And I know it sucks. It sucks that you’re fifteen and have lost more than some sixty-year olds that I know. It sucks that you’re a traumatized superhero living in a dangerous building full of people you barely know who are all trained to kill. But I can’t help you to feel more comfortable—even Sam can’t—if you won’t tell us what’s wrong.”

 

Tony looked over at Peter as if expecting him to respond to his grand soliloquy just like that. Peter shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his hands.

 

Tony, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, said, “Kid, don’t leave me hanging.”

 

Peter took a shuddering breath, feeling so incredibly  _weak_ , and replied quietly, “What do you want me to say?”

 

Tony blinked. He certainly seemed taken aback by that answer. When it became clear that Peter wasn’t asking as a rhetoric, though, he replied simply, “The truth.”

 

Peter, unmoving, his eyes tracing the lines of the rapidly fading scars on his palms, said slowly, “How?” A long pause. “What kind of hero am I if I can’t handle this? How can I just tell you— _you_ , Tony Stark, Iron Man—what I’m feeling while you just grit your teeth and get through it?”

 

And just then, just for a second, Tony saw himself as Peter, and he felt Howard in him. He had instilled the awful motto that his father had ingrained so deeply into him that he’d never forget it into Peter: Stark men are made of iron. And in that moment Tony didn’t care that he’d spent years forcing himself into isolation, that his fiancée and two friends were in the room, or anything else; he couldn’t fuck up this kid like Howard had done to him. Ironic, that he was steeling himself for this.

 

“Peter, look. It almost causes me physical pain to say this, but this whole Tony-Stark-Iron-God dude you look up to? He’s fake. This is all bull.” Peters head practically shot up and his eyes flew open as they met Tony’s with a strange sort of dazed intensity. Tony continued, “My father taught me that emotions were awful. I wasn’t allowed to cry. The first time I did that I was old enough to remember...” Tony trailed off. He didn’t want to do this. But he sniffed and carried on. “He slapped me across the face and told me to man up.”

 

Tony pretended he didn’t hear the little gasp from Sam. “And I haven’t cried since. It’s like I can’t. I want to, I’ve wanted to so many times, but I just can’t. I’ve been kidnapped, tortured, abandoned by the only people i thought were my friends, and I’ve almost died more times than I can count on my hands, but I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t talk. I internalized, I worked, and I drank. And I don’t want you to turn out like this. You’re a teenager, yeah, and talking about emotions is tough, but I’m not letting myself become my father, and I’m sure as hell not letting you become me.”

 

When Tony finally looked back to Peter, he didn’t see the pitying or disgusted face he’d expected; rather, in Peter’s eyes there was a sort of understanding, as if for the first time he was seeing a man for what he really was: a man.

 

Because it was true. Peter had always revered Tony Stark like a god, but in the past weeks he’d made more mistakes than any of them knew. And now, Peter saw just a person in front of him. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. The revelation hit him like a truck. Tony Stark was just a man.

 

After a long moment, Peter gathered his courage, set his jaw, and began.

 

”I  _hurt_.” A long silence echoed through the room, because those were the truest words Peter Parker had said in weeks. “It’s cold. And it’s lonely. And it’s scary. And I’m really bad at gathering my thoughts, but I’m going to keep going.

 

”I thought my life was over when my parents died. Then my aunt and uncle showed me it wasn’t. I thought my life was over when my uncle died. Then my aunt showed me it wasn’t. But who’s going to show me now? Half of you want to send me away, and the other half just plain don’t know what to do with me.” Everyone flinched as they realized Peter could hear everything they’d said. “I feel like some weird Happy Meal toy that none of you really wanted but you feel bad throwing out. Like I’m just here out of pity. I’ve been pitied for years, Tony. And I’m getting tired of it.” A long pause as Peter finally found the word to describe what he was feeling all along. Simple, five lettered, but more accurate than an entire fucking sonnet.

 

”I’m tired, Tony.”

 

Tony looked between the faces around him. He glanced at Sam’s simultaneously shocked and overly-neutral-therapist-face, Rhodey’s mildly impressed one, Pepper’s still completely shocked one, and right back to Peter, who really did look as exhausted as they all felt.

 

Tony sighed.

 

”Me too.”

 

——

 

Peter sat on some rooftop and watched as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, its nightly death painting the sky a collage of pink and orange and purple. He let his Spider-Man mask fall to his side as he gazed out.

 

Months had passed, and Peter had mere hours before he had to officially sign his name away. Peter had ultimately agreed to the adoption, albeit with a few silent tears, and the five left the room with the promise to never tell anyone of what had transpired. They still had reputations to maintain.

 

Obviously, no one took the news well, although Peter did find Captain America’s knowing wink to Tony kind of odd. But, with a few weeks of getting to know Peter as occasional appearances became ever so slightly more frequent, they had calmed down enough to see reason; Tony couldn’t just make up an excuse for the press, and temporary gaudianship only lasted so long. 

 

There had been hard times still, like when Peter saw a young family being handed his old keys and officially taking his home or when Tony and him had visited the cemetery together. There always would be hard times. There would always be four little black rocks resting deep inside of him, shrinking slowly but never really disappearing.

 

But that was okay.

 

Peter didn’t smile. He wasn’t quite there yet. But he pulled his mask on, stood up, and jumped off of the side of the ledge.

 

And he swung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it!!!! I really want to thank all of you for coming along on this crazy ride with me. If I’m honest, I went into this with no plan, but I’m so happy I was able to explore grief in this story. Don’t worry, that’s not tHe last Of it. I plan on making a whole mini-series of one shots and short stories surrounding this universe and going deeper into Tony and Peter’s relationship, how they individually deal with their traumas, so on and so forth. But this has been an incredible outlet for me and all of you have been so unbelievable supportive through this whole thing!!! I've got to say that I'm sort of sad to end this, but as Shakespeare said (and oh god I'm such a nerd I'm quoting Shakespeare now), "parting is such sweet sorrow"  
> This is MaryaD, signing off on SoA.


End file.
